


Drabblewatch (Readershots)

by DarthSuki



Series: Drabblewatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Belly Buldge, Cooing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Drabble Collection, Dragon!Hanzo, Dragon!Reader, Dragons, F/F, F/M, FTM Reader, Flying, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Lingerie, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Master/Slave, Military Kink, Mirror Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Rutting, SUNSET FLUFF, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Shadow tentacles, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Sunsets, Tentacles, Threesome, Touch sensitive reader, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, Wedding Fluff, Yakuza Hanzo, gentle dirty talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 50,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of  Overwatch readershot ficlets either written of my own prerogative or requested through my tumblr (darthsuki). The series also has an official Tumblr (Drabblewatch), where I also post headcanons!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Southern Charm (Reader/McCree)

Even when he whispers, the man’s voice is as powerful as thunder. It rumbles through your bones, crashes over your ears, and makes your body tingle with a sense of undeniable need. Oh, how his words coil in your belly, make you writhe and twist as your lips tumble with words of growing desire. 

“You’re so beautiful darlin’, all spread out jus’ fer’ me,” He whispers, fingertips trailing over your knees, up your leg, and briefly against inner, soft thighs. All you can do in response is whimper, body shivering and shaking against the restraints binding your hands still and your legs open. “You’re all opened up, jus’ like a birthday present. Best gift a man could ever get now.” 

He skims his fingers just a few inches away from where you ache for them the most, and suddenly the sight of hunger in his eyes as he gazes down at you is almost too much. With a whimper, you turn your face and try to bury it into your arm, hiding away the site of you biting down on your lower lip or the way your cheeks flush bright, cherry-red. 

But McCree isn’t having any of that–he reaches one hand out to gently grab your chin, slowly pulling your face so that it looks back in his direction. He’s sitting there between your legs, as naked as you are, but the confidence and love that pools in his eyes, his smile, is more than enough to make you feel raw and so perfectly exposed. A thumb rubs into the soft, warm flesh of your inner thigh while the other hand holds your chin still, making sure that you’re not going to hide again before he starts to pull it back and rest it between your legs.

“Don’t you be coverin’ that pretty face,” He says in that low, gravely voice, vowels pure and consonants sharp in his too-warm accent. “I wanna see every lil’ twitch of those pretty lips while I work you open.”


	2. Kinky (Reader/Hanzo)

Out of every single member of the group, Hanzo was the man you least expected to be so…kinky. 

Not the vanilla sort, dabbling in a little bit of bondage once and never really picking it up again or maybe doing a daddy kink That One Time when one of you let it slip out while having sex. 

Hanzo was a straight-up kinky fucker. The moment you both started to date, it came as a blunt, instant explanation that sounded more like a warning than anything else. In fact, the admission of his particular likes came out over dinner together, and you were lucky that you didn’t cover the table with the tea you spat out.

That was a couple weeks ago. Now, you’re siting in a meeting with Jack going over some vague, boring debrief about a Talon outpost recently discovered and shut down. It was a courtesy more than anything else, a pat on the back for everyone who took part and a reminder that they’d be going through a couple extra training missions to keep everyone ready for the next big takedown.

Despite the fact that most of the meeting was rather self-explanatory, it was nearly impossible to pay attention to what Morrison was even saying. Instead of focusing on his voice or his words, your thoughts were pointedly focused on the hard, powerful buzzing between your legs.

Inside you.

You don’t know how you let Hanzo seduce you into the idea, but at the same time, you really do. You know exactly why you let it happen, allowing the man to press you back against the wall of his bedroom, hands on your hips and his eyes staring down at you with a hunger you rarely ever saw.

Even now, you can feel his eyes from across the table, watching your every little movement. If you were to turn your gaze and look at him, you know his eyes would be blown, his jaw tight, his body tense; and yet, he was so talented in keeping it all hidden, carefully tucked away behind a demeanor of aloof, cold discipline.

Where he kept the remote, you just don’t know. His arms are crossed and he’s definitely not holding it, but the toy is vibrating away inside you, angled just so that every time you shift, it hits that sweet spot against your inner walls and make you pray that the meeting would be over soon. Please. Oh god.

You’re flushed and holding your breath whenever a wave of pleasure works over you. Even though you feel out of breath, you let out sighs whenever a wave of need works its way over your nerves, making sure that a moan physically can’t come out of your lips until it passes and you’re sucking in a chestful of air again.

Eventually, Hanzo must have noticed your attempts to ward off the pleasure, because the toy begins to pulsate. It wiggles inside you, just a little bit, working like a finger and gently curling up inside of you and ohgoditsogood.

You bite a finger, hard, legs pulled together and eyes searching the table in case there’s someone else who’s noticed the filthy, subtle play between you and Hanzo. Luckily, nobody is staring at you besides him, as everyone is too caught up with Morrison’s last couple words before calling the meeting off.

It’s a blessing when it ends. After a minute, everyone files out, most making their way to the mess hall to grab lunch, and the others deciding to make use of the training room–leaving both you and Hanzo alone.

Oh so alone.

It’s only then that you look at him, turn your eyes to meet with blown, dark orbs of hot want and thinly-restrained need and—

“Hanzo~” You can’t hold in the moan anymore, the sob from deep in your chest when you finally feel a couple tears falling from your eyes. The toy is still pulsating inside you, still rubbing up against that perfect little spot and making stars burst in your vision. Debauchery took over your thoughts when you finally tried to stand from your chair, but eventually falling forward so your upper body pressed into the table, ass out like you were little more a cat in heat. “Please. Please. I can’t take it anymore!”

Hanzo’s carefully-weaved sense of dignity and restraint fall away in the span of just a few seconds. He licked his lips and nearly vaulted over the meeting table, as agile as a cat, and took a spot in the empty space behind you.

Within a moment, his fingers wrapped around your pants and yanked them down, leaving you bare to his eyes and at the mercy of his touch. The toy just barely stuck out from you, your muscles so tight around it but aching for more. Hanzo didn’t even give himself time to enjoy the sight before he started pulling it out. It was a slow, deliberate movement that left you clawing at the smooth tabletop, sobbing when you suddenly felt so empty.

“Nonono put it back in,” You whimpered, lost to the submission of your pleasure and his authority, the power you let him hold over you. “Please put it back in, I feel so empty right now–Hanzo–please…..!”

“Watashi no koneko, you’ve been so good for me today,” He said, voice hovering just a thread above a growl, in that zone of powerful and strong, in that same primal way that he shouted when releasing his ultimate attack and letting his dragons roam freely into the battlefield. 

His bare hips ground against your ass and his hard dick, throbbing and dripping with precum, pressed to your entrance.

“Now let the dragon claim you properly.”  



	3. Undone (Fem!Reader/Jack)

“You’re so beautiful,” He says, hands pressing on your hips. “All spread out like this, just for me.” His fingertips press over the gentle curves of your body, reverent and powerful that it feels almost hard to breathe. You can’t see his face due to the dark strip of cloth over your eyes. You can’t feel his face because of the carefully-tied bindings around your wrists.

You know he’s smiling. Jack has a particular tone to his voice when he’s smiling, lips pulled just enough to see that there was more than just a grumpy old man beneath the scars, more than a battered soldier beyond his bitter moments.

Breathing is hard when his fingers are all over you, exploring your body in a motion that is inherently sexual, but layers deeper than that. He explores your legs to see how they carry you, your chest to feel how soft your breasts are, your carefully bound arms to remind both of you how strong you are. You were as amazing in the bedroom as you were on the battlefield, awe-inspiring and breath-taking that he still wondered how you fell in love with an old man like him.

It isn’t until one of his hands finally moves down between your thighs that you start to shake. The room is cool, almost too much, and your body is entirely bare, exposed, to whatever Jack wanted to do to you. 

Evidently, he wanted to take his time with you tonight.

“You make an old man feel young again,” He grumbled, lips against your collarbone before drifting down to your chest. “–But I can’t complain about bein’ old too much, darling.” You can hear it, that tinge in his voice, the soft hint of an accent that only came out when he was enraged or horny, when his body was overwhelmed with emotions and hormones and a million other things. 

“You really do like callin’ me Daddy, after all.” 

His lips ghosted over one of your nipples, followed quickly by a blow of hot, wet breath, tongue just barely kitten-licking over the tip. His fingers finally started to press your labia open, opening your core up to the cool, almost shocking air as it swept between your folds.

It was followed by the press of Jack’s finger, careful and firm, sinking inside of your velvety warmth in what was only the beginning of his night with you. Jack might have a few years over his ability to go a couple rounds, but damn; he knew exactly how to make you come undone.


	4. Koneko (Reader/Hanzo)

“…Hanzo?” 

Your voice is soft, almost too soft you think, but its just loud enough for your lover to hear it. Though you were terribly afraid of bothering him while he looked so focused in meditation, he didn’t berate or scold you. Instead, he merely glances over, eyes soft and curiosity evident in his expression. 

He looks to be waiting for you to say something else, but how can you put your feeling in words? How can you stand there and ask for attention when you know he has only just returned from a mission? How the bed has been too empty while he’s been away from home and been feeling the downfalls from the opposite side?

Hanzo returned from a mission with Jack and McCree less than 12 hours ago. It’s late in the night and you can’t sleep; evidently, neither could he.

Somewhere, your inner thoughts must give a message on your face, because Hanzo’s brows tense and he glances back towards the small, homemade shrine in front of him. It isn’t at all like what he has in Hanamura, but it’s the best he can do otherwise, sticks of incense imported with the help of Overwatch’s new, growing, but rather underground influences.

It takes a moment, but the man takes in a breath and speaks. His voice is powerful and low command that you cannot deny, whether you were desperate for romantic validation or not.

“Come sit in my lap, pet.” 

With one phrase, it’s as if everything tilts, shifts solidly in one direction. You’re no longer a worried little lover waiting for Hanzo to come home safe–you’re just a little pet, eager for attention and love to be smothered with kisses over your face.

It takes only a few seconds to step over to him, shuffle and drop to your knees until you’re sitting in his lap, over his crossed legs.

He wordlessly wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the back of your head to lay kisses against the nape of your sensitive neck.

“…I didn’t want to disturb your sleep,” He rumbles. “But you ache for me, do you not?” 

You can’t find the words to respond, so you merely nod your head, heart beating rapidly as his hands find purchase over your hips in careful, observant response. You can feel him behind you, his hard muscles barely concealed by thin silk, his fingertips against your skin through the materials of one of his own shirts you wore to feel safe at night.

There’s a firmness poking up beneath you, and it takes little more than a caught breath to realize what it is. Hanzo lets out a growl.

“It is hard to be away from my most beautiful pet.” 

He pushes his fingertips beneath the fabric, pulling it up your legs and hips before searching for a pair of underwear that wasn’t there. You can feel the way he shifts beneath you, one hand slightly-too-eagerly pulling himself out from the confines of his pants. “–and you know exactly how to prepare yourself for your master.” 

It takes merely a few seconds before he has your hips in his hands again. The man’s strength is absolutely breathtaking, able to pick you up without a perception of effort, just enough so that the tip of his bared cock pressed against your entrance, teasing, and you can’t wiggle nearly enough to drop down on him.

“”You will mewl for me, koneko,” The archer growls, barely tipping over his restraint. “And you will take every inch of me.”

He drops you down over his dick, sheathing himself inside of your heat in one solid, hard motion, letting gravity be the force that drives him home. In one moment, it’s as if the world is fire, blissfully hot and oh-so-satisfying in the way it licked up inside of you. He feels thick and familiar, filling you up in a way that feels like you were made for. 

Made to be his pet, whimpering for your master with every hard thrust of his hips.


	5. Toys (Fem!Reader/Genji)

“You are the last one I expected to have a collection,” You say, staring down at the oddly organized collection of sex toys laid out in the drawer. Its a rather impressive variety to be entirely honest–vibrators, plugs, and dildos in more colors than you honestly thought they came in. Your awe doesn’t seem to come as a surprise though to the owner, who merely wraps a gentle pair of arms around your waist.

The arms are metallic and cool, but give off a loving warmth that only Genji Shimada could give you.

“When given a new body,” he starts in a slow, soft whisper, bare lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “You learn to explore your pleasure again. It just so happens that I quite enjoyed that exploring.” He’s already taken off his mask, setting it down somewhere in the room while you were too busy gazing over the odd collection of toys. 

He growls. You can feel his fingertips drawing little mindless shapes into your belly.

“I’ve been fantasizing about using some of these toys on you,” The ninja explained, heat barely contained in his voice. “I’ve always wondered which one would be the best choice.”

“O-Oh?” Is all you can say in response, a thin attempt at curiosity when Genji’s body is pressed up against your back, and his hands are already groping your hips and palming lower and lower on your stomach.

Genji laughs.

“At first I thought about using that one-” He points to a dildo on the far left, rather tame-looking, light-colored toy of average thickness and length. “I thought about how I’d open you up with it first, after binding your legs to the bed frame.” 

The way his words roll, rumble with desire, makes them so much worse.

“It wouldn’t take too much work either, getting your cunt to take it. I thought about how I’d stuff it inside you, just to watch your body writhe while you beg for more.” 

His palm presses lower still, and with his other hand, he points to another toy. It’s a bit less dick-like in shape, but its thicker, and there are nubs all along the shaft.

“I’d work you up to this one next. You’d look so beautiful taking it all in, open wide and aching for every inch inside you. The way you blush when I find the right spot to angle it, it always makes you get greedy and beg for more.”

His hand dips beneath the elastic waistband of your pants, and caresses down the center of your lower tummy until–

A gasp escapes your lips as cold, metal fingertips start to press between your throbbing lips. His index finger circles delicately over your clitoris, playing with the little nub even as he continues to speak.

“You’ve always loved someone playing with your clit though, haven’t you? I have a couple toys for that too–this one over here is good for that. I’d have you opened up, and I could bring this little thing right over where you want it most. Tease you with it, just barely against your cunt. 

I’ve always loved making you beg for me. Saying my name. It sounds so pretty on your lips.”

“G-Genji!” You sob, legs starting to shake when bucking your hips forward provides no extra pressure, as he merely pulls his hand away.

“Just like that,” He coos, “It sounds like honey.” 

Before you know it, the sensation is suddenly gone, and Genji takes a step away from you. You turn your head almost instantly, face red and expression equal parts disapointed and confused, but your cybernetic lover isn’t one to leave your unspoken whimper hanging.

“Now, why don’t you pick out your favorite toy?” His gaze is heavy and hot, like a starving predator sizing up his prey. A slight, coyish, oh-so-evil smirk pulls over Genji’s face. “I yearn to see how you react to every one of them–and we have to start somewhere.”  



	6. Tied Up (Reader/Junkrat)

“You’re okay right?” He chitters, double checking the tension in the ropes. “It’s….not too tight, right? Still feelin’ the blood up in ya’ fingers?” Though Jamison tries to put an obvious humor in his words, the sensitive, almost awkward worry is obvious. He’s already asked the same question three times, counting this one, as he’s tied up various parts of your body over the bed. 

“I’m okay,” You assure him, unable to reach a hand up and press a warm palm to his cheek, but satisfy yourself with a kiss instead. Junkrat seems to take it well enough, because he flashes you a smile before gently finishing the last knot around your wrist. 

There’s just enough slack in the rope that you can rest your splayed limbs out naturally, but can’t pull them in, either your hands to your chest or closing your legs. You are, utterly, at Jamison’s mercy–and you love it.

After double (triple) checking each knot, the Aussie finally lets himself loosen up a bit, licking his lips as he looks you over. 

“Y’look like a smorgasbord, sheila,” He says, pulling the glove off his left hand before half-wobbling off the bed so he could get the rest of his clothes off (which didn’t honestly consist of much). He dropped his shorts, but his eyes never left you, eating the sight of your soft, exposed form in a way that would have intimidated you if you didn’t trust and love the chaotic little anarchist so much.

He got back onto the bed, minus clothes and one metal prosthetic leg, and immediately hovered overtop of you.

Soft, curious eyes blink up at him, unsure of what his next move would be; the day that he was predictable was the day the world would end.

He licked his lips again before leaning his face down to kiss you, locking your mouths together in a moment that would have been romantic if it wasn’t so hard and rough. Despite that, you loved it, and tried to press your head up to get more–your hands already pulled uselessly at the ropes as Jamison pressed his bare body against your own.

After a few more seconds, he pulled back, giggling.

“Don’t get too eager now sheila!” Junkrat looks like a kid discovering the hidden Christmas presents, one hand pressing to the right of your head, and the other tickling down the skin of your stomach, just so he can watch the way you try to curl up. “The fun is only just starting. I want to make sure tonight is positively explosive for you.”


	7. Mäuschen (Reader/Reinhardt)

Heaven. This was probably heaven. Sure, there were other places that might compare to some degree; there was that one pizza place you liked too much, that store you went to every other week and, hell, it wasn’t like you could deny the pleasure of a nice, hot bath. But despite all those possibilities, those great emotionally-satisfying rivals, this had to be the one true heaven in your world.

Well, a mildly painful heaven in a soft, aching sort of way.

“I don’t think I can feel my legs,” You whisper, voice already feeling a little hoarse from the rather shameful amount of sobbing pulled from your lips mere minutes before. It would be a miracle if nobody actually heard them, and ask you about it the next day. Regardless, you’re rather satisfied with yourself, gazing up warm and limp at the brick wall of a man you’ve come to call your lover.

He lets out a chuckle and reaches a hand down to your belly, rubbing over the just barely-there bump that made you positively red to think about. The number of the times you two had coupled were lost in your head, but it was surely enough to leave a subtle, physical bit of evidence that the German tank seem far too pleased about.

“You won’t have to worry about using them tomorrow, mein liebling,” Reinhardt rumbles, just shy of leaning his body against your own in obvious worry that he’d squish you. “I’ll make sure that nobody has need of you, so you can rest.” 

His hand is warm encompasses most of your stomach. It makes you feel so small beneath him. So safe. Just as you close your eyes and melt into his touch, you feel his careful palm press lower, over the gentle curve of your belly. When fingertips begin to press against the heat of your sensitive flesh, the struggle you offer is light at best. 

If anything, you’re amused he has the patience to pleasure you again.

“Reinhaaaardt,” You whimper, wiggling ever so slightly against his massive opposite hand pressing to your hip and keeping you still. “I can’t….I don’t think I can-”

“Yes you can,” he whispers, too soft for a man with such raw, brute strength at his disposal, and a size to match it entirely. “Mein mäuschen, let this old lion see your face in pleasure just once more.” 

It’s amazing how much he knows to do with just his fingers, rubbing gently over the abused flesh between your legs in a way that is just enough to spark a flame at your core, but not bring a sense of ache from how much he’d opened you before.

He murmurs through it all; little words rumbling through the air, mouth hot over your shoulders, your chest, coaxing you gently over the edge one last time before everything washes over with pleasure. Reinhardt watches your orgasm as much as he feels it in its entirety; the way your face lights up in a blush, the way your muscles tighten around his fingers. It’s a sight of raw beauty he’d never see anywhere else.

It’s only after that when the two of you collapse onto the bed, though it’s more of him falling on the sheets beside you, giving into the coming need of physical need that you had come to adore about Reinhardt. He could be a fierce lover worthy of his namesake, but what set him apart so wildly was his level of comfort and compassion.

His arms wrap around you as if you’re little more than a teddy bear, and holds you tight against his chest. 

You once asked Reinhardt what mäuschen meant in english–he called you that quite often. His answer came with a hearty chuckle and a hint of flustered warmth. It meant ‘mouse. Though at first you found the petname rather curious, it was moments like now that you could really see what he meant by it.

You are Reinhardt’s little mouse, and he is your lion.


	8. Mirror (Fem!Reader/Reaper)

“I will not tell you a second time: look,” The voice hinges on a wire, thin and taut with the tension of the moment. Though you’re ensnared in thoughts of embarrassment and self-insecurity, you listen to his command. When you finally glance forward, a gasp falls from your lips.

You see…you. Or at least, it’s a reflection of you, standing there, hands bound by shadows above your head, body bare and showing off the multitude of love bites and hickies left on your skin over the course of the last few hours. In the span of a moment, you take in the physical manifestation of the man’s hungry, dark passion.

“That’s it….” A whisper caresses through the air, a croon that could sound almost mocking if it was heard by anyone else. But not to you. “Was that so hard now? You need to trust me more gatito.” 

Despite having a full view of your naked body in front of you, his touch still comes as an absolute surprise–probably because it wasn’t entirely physical. It’s a stroke up your leg, ghost-like and barely pressing against the skin. It solidifies a little more by the time it’s at your hip, curling around your stomach and holding you still (as if you weren’t already). 

Another tendril is pressing against the back of your knee, and slowly working its way north. 

“It’s a shame you don’t get to see how you look more often,” The low voice growls, just coherent enough to make out the harsh words ripping through the air. “We might have to make this a regular occurrence.” 

The touch moves higher and you can hear the voice becoming thicker, a solid sound behind you just moments before you feel Gabriel’s bare lips kissing the nape of your neck. He’s barely visible behind you, more shadow than man, his eyes a faint glow in the otherwise darkness of the room.

The tip of the solid, shadowy tendril finally meets the juncture of your legs. It slips just barely into your heat, toying with your folds as Gabriel’s half-physical hands reach around to grope needily over your breasts.

“You’re so wet, mi amor,” The shadow chuckles at the finding, feeling the muffled sensations through his disjointed, almost otherworldly sense of touch. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing yourself at the mercy of my…touch?” At the hiss of his voice, you felt and watched as the shadowy appendage plunges inside of you. It’s so thick, filling you up just as perfectly as your lover’s physical cock would. 

A cry escapes from your lips as your legs begin to shiver and Gabriel’s claw-like fingertips press a little harder against your breasts; possessive, needy, desperate for more of your moans.

You can see it all happening, see the way his shadows flow around your skin, or the way his eyes glimmer in mischievous delight. 

“Don’t you worry,” Gabriel almost hisses in amusement, starting a rapid pace of needy thrusting of his inhuman shadows inside you. “We’re not even close to being done, baby.”


	9. Punishment (Reader/Genji)

Everything is still. The air, your breath, even the sound of your heart feels muted within your chest–it feels as if time itself had pressed the pause button, leaving you to wade in your own thoughts. They were the only things you had at the moment, considering your bound wrists and blinded vision. Only a step or two short of complete sensory deprivation, the depth of your thoughts felt almost nightmarish. 

You just wanted something; a touch on your arm or a soft voice in your ear. But you were good–a good, obedient lover, one that listened to orders without a second thought or gave one-sided pleasure without complaint. You trusted Genji with your body, your mind, and your soul. 

He had yet to break that deep trust, not even slightly. 

You don’t honestly know where he went after binding your wrists and wrapping the silken cloth over your eyes. Your legs weren’t tied together or to anything, but his words held an iron-strong weight over them instead.

“Don’t move,” The cyborg had purred, a command so firm that it needed no explanation. Don’t move from your spot, son’t move from your position. Genji had put you exactly where he wanted you: kneeling on the floor in front of his bed, legs tucked beneath your body and your hands laying limply in your lap. 

Perhaps he went to train? 

Time wasn’t much of a relevant method of measurement anymore. Where you had lost count of the seconds and minutes, you merely started to count heartbeats instead, though they held no chronological value. Like a pet with no real concept of time, he might have well been gone hours with how it felt.

Your legs started to go a little numb. Though you tried to wiggle ever so slightly to alleviate the lack of sensation, nothing seemed to help. Eventually, the lack of sensation became too much to bare and–

You let out a sigh of relief when you shift, finally, letting your legs stretch out in front of you so the blood can start flowing back down to your toes.

Barely three seconds pass before a voice makes your heart freeze.

“I told you not to move, did I not?”

It’s soft and close by, though you didn’t hear the door open. Panic fills your chest as you scrabble to shift back into position, but it’s a silly, pitiful attempt since Genji already saw you. Had he been there the whole time, watching you? Had he not even left the room?

Your lips are already quivering by the time he steps close enough to reach a hand down and card his cybornetic fingertips in the locks of your hair.

“When I give you a command,” The ninja’s voice drips, grip growing tighter. “–I expect you to follow it. You still need more training, koneko.” 

A whimper escapes your lips as he half-pulls you up to your feet, giving you time to realize what he’s doing and move mostly on your own accord. Regardless of the tender notion, the man is hardly soft. He pushes you back onto the bed the moment you’re standing up, forcing you flat to the mattress before you even have a moment to breath. 

“Do you have anything to say for your lack of obedience?” 

The raw, hungry tone of Genji’s alluring voice is enough to stay your thoughts, your lips moving in a feverish, incoherent mess. Your hands press, still bound, against your own chest as you shake your head.

“N-no….I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to move!”

Genji is very familiar with dolling out punishment when its earned. And boy, did you earn it.

“Turn onto your belly, and put your hands out above your head.” 

You follow the stern command with little haste, wiggling your body over until your chest and shoulders are flush with the mattress and your ass is up in the air. The position is familiar to you, and the handprints from the last punishment have only recently faded a few days ago.

You don’t do anything to incite even more punishment from Genji’s hand.

“Count each strike; you’ve earned ten.”

The action is familiar, but by no means is it actively sought after. While you greatly enjoyed Genji lording his authority over you, the pain that came from his palm against your soft skin was enough to keep you genuinely obedient–

At least, most of the time.

His motions are hard, but controlled, leaving solid red marks over your ass in varying places so he doesn’t strike the same place more than a time or two. The strikes hurt regardless. With each consecutive hit your eyes water more, your sobs louder.

Eventually, Genji’s hard words of punishment soften into gentle coaxing.

“Just one more,” he urges, rubbing a cold metallic palm over the freshest mark, sending a buzz of pain/pleasure over your ass, to your tailbone and solidly up your spine. The rubbing at least soothes the ache, spreads it out a bit more evenly over the stinging skin. “You’re taking your punishment so well.”

A sob escapes your lips as the final blow comes down over your ass, a crack sharp enough in the air that the mere sound by itself would have made you cringe. But then it was done–it’s done and Genji is cooing at you, hands skittering all over your body now that he can finally love you all over again.

“So proud of you,” He murmurs, fingertips finally catching on the curves of your hips. There’s a soft click, a hiss in the air. Before you even have the time to mentally register the sound there is a feeling of thick heat pressing against and quickly sheathing itself inside you. 

The sound of your pleasured cry tangles with Genji’s own as he takes you, roughly, passionately, and with no shortage of gentle praises and hard thrusts against your beautifully presented, mildly stinging ass.


	10. Heat (Reader/Reinhardt)

Reinhardt hears the little whine before he feels a face nuzzling at his hand. Though he had been focused on a book moments before, his attention shifts almost instantly when he realizes who the adorable little whine belongs to. He moves his hand, just a little bit, but it’s enough so that his huge, warm palm is pressing over your head.

You let out another low, soft whine of satisfaction, wiggling your body in a show as close to joy as was possible without a tail or set of ears. 

“Hello there, mein maus,” The German man chuckles, rubbing his hand down so his palm cups your jaw and his thumb rubs over your cheek. “Are you hungry?” 

You shake your head, gently, one of the few humanoid motions that Reinhardt has come to allow from you during you and your lover’s intricately-planned scenes. It was just one of many rules engraved in your thoughts, but one that you enjoyed quite well--it made it feel so much more real, raw, and powerful of an experience.

The man huffs and closes the book in his lap, inviting you to take its place with a smile as warm as the morning sun. Of course you take no time to greedily take the offering, sliding into his lap with a low rumbling in your throat. 

Reinhardt runs his fingers through your hair while he speaks his thoughts out loud.

“Not hungry, not thirsty...” He hums, rubbing a hand over his beard while the other mindlessly continues to pet your head, and then finally to your stomach when you lay back against him. 

One of the things you love the most about your large boyfriend was just that; he was huge, towering over you on even the best of days. He could pick you up like a doll and manhandle you however the hell he might want. Just the thought of his hands all over you is enough to make you shiver, your face turning to the side so you can bury your cheek against his chest.

The motion seems to pull the man’s attention to you directly again.

“Oh?” His hands are suddenly on your hips, pulling them close, grinding them down over his lap so you can feel a growing bulge oh-too-easily through the material of his sweatpants. The pressure is as good as feeling of its size; it was a miracle you could ever get that man inside of you, but hell if you were ever going to complain about such a physical curiosity. “I think I see what the problem here is, maus.”

He pulls harder, coaxing a feverish little moan from your lips when one hand finally reaches up, fingers gently curling around the thick collar buckled around your neck.

“--I think mien mäuschen is in heat.”

When a strong, careful hand found its way into your pants and between your shaking thighs, the moan that spilled out of your mouth seemed to prove Reinhardt’s hungry assumption.


	11. Dragon (Male!Dragon!Reader/Hanzo)

The first thing you remember in life was being born. From where there had been nothingness for as long as your consciousness existed, there was suddenly everything. Sounds, colors, tastes and smells, all wonderful and novel in their own way to your new, curious mind. 

You were born clumsy, constantly tangling over yourself and knotting your long, serpentine body up until someone assisted you. It took a while to develop a sense of coordination.

The Shimadas were an ancient family, going back farther than even your inhuman knowledge could comprehend. For all you know, they went as far back as you did, generations upon generations of mutual agreement, power, and respect for one another. There was no other family who held such a deep, soulful bond with your kind anymore, as far as you know.

The second major thing you remember was being bonded. The process was passive in all, flowing along through time like a river that lead you right where you needed to be. For a new generation of the Shimada, there was a new generation of ancient dragons whose blood had run for generations alongside them.

It was a mutual cycle of birth and death, a bond that was forged upon conception and never severed until the souls fled from the mortal plane; maybe not even after that.

Its how you became a guardian of the older Shimada heir. In childhood, adulthood, and eventual banishment from his own family, you were always Hanzo’s bonded. He was your protector as much as you were his–the two of you had grown up together, through childhood and thensome, from your infancy as a clumsy serpentine dragon until you were able to shift your first humanoid form. 

Even today, years into the man’s adulthood, your soft face and eager, playful voice always seemed to catch him off-guard.

—

“Hanzo!” You chirp, giving little care to the fact that he had been ready to let-loose an arrow at a wooden target before you circle him. Your long, delicate tail trails around the man’s legs, the fluffy, almost feathery tip flicking against his thighs. “Are you almost done yet?”

“I’ve told you not to jump in like that,” The human chastises as he lowers his bow and deposits the arrow back in his quiver. “One of these days I’ll accidentally hit you with an arrow.” He lets out a huff, eyes wordlessly scanning over the patch of scales over your left hip bone. They’re ever so slightly discolored, a subtle scar from an accident years before.

Brown eyes flick up back to catch your own slitted, golden ones.

“I don’t believe that you yearn to repeat the injury,” He said, words measured.

The only response you can muster is a groan and a pair of pursed lips. 

“I just want to play,” You mutter. “You’ve been training everyday for the last week!” The mild annoyance that had been merely simmering in your veins starts to turn into a slight fire. Smoke billows from your nose after a breath before you force the emotion back down in your chest. 

Hanzo gazes at you in silence for some time before he finally speaks, seeming able to read the situation much more than you’re able to communicate it.

“…..Ever since you listened to your brother and joined Overwatch, you don’t…you never have time for me anymore. You never call on me when you’re not in battle.” 

Hanzo is still silent. This, assuming it to be an excuse-less admission of fault, only fuels the hurt in your chest. 

“I don’t want to feel like just a weapon to you,” You continue, claws scratching the metal floor with every step, feet and body constantly shifting from side to side in an awkward sort of insecurity that was surely befitting to no dragon of your bloodline. “We’re equals, aren’t we? We’re….closer than that.” 

This was one of those times where it felt hard to say the word, always unsure if Hanzo would push it away. 

Every Shimada was bonded to their spirit dragon, but not every Shimada had to be their mate.

“And besides–” You start again, tail thrashing behind you in short, violent movements. “I’m your bonded. If you don’t–I mean, if you don’t desire me that way anymore….you just….have to tell m-”

You don’t get a chance to finish speaking. Where there was air to breath in and fuel your continuing, confusing rant, there was suddenly a pair of lips. 

They were powerful and warm, prying your lips apart and forcing your thoughts to fall apart. Air isn’t much of an important thing to your biology, but you still feel rather breathless, taking in all that is your Hanzo Shimada as he kisses you passionately. 

You can’t remember the last time he’s kissed you like this, with his body pushing you back and his arms slowly wrapping around your body, fingertips gently combing through the thin line of fur that went from the nape of your neck down the line of your spine and tail. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve made you doubt,” Hanzo mutters, words gentle and firm all at the same time as he speaks against your lips. “I didn’t realize you felt so untouched.”

Your mouths meet for a second time, slower, taking the time to familiarize the details about eachother’s lips. His hands reach down to hold your hips, and your hands up to his neck where short claws gently grip soft, human flesh. For such a mortal man, Hanzo still feels so powerful, a man of unbridled, raw strength when he allows and funnels it properly.

You almost want to apologize, unsure if you had merely lost your wisdom and overreacted (was your heat nearing?), but Hanzo steals it away before the words are even out of your mouth.

His hands are all over you and his body is pushing you back, one step after another, until cool concrete of a building wall sends chills down your spine. 

“I have been too distracted in my new affiliation,” the archer murmurs, biting over your shoulder just hard enough to make your head fall back against the wall, your horns gently tapping against the solid material. “But that is no proper excuse for treating my beautiful dragon as I have. Let me begin my apologies.”

A hand finds it’s way down chest and across hard, protective scales. Those hard scales transform into soft, sensitive underbelly flesh the farther down his careful hand moves, until it reaches a soft mound between your legs. Under any normal circumstances, it would be flat, almost completely invisible in the small patch of soft flesh at the lower-center of your belly, but the attention of Hanzo’s voice and hand works you over like a charm.

Careful, experienced fingers gently spread open the slit of the bulging mound, carefully coaxing your cock from it’s sheath with the help of years of careful experience and teenage curiosity. It slips out fully, thick with arousal and need even before Hanzo wraps one of his hands around it.

The little, muffled snarl behind your lips is the least he can expect from bedding such a wild beast like you, who was still learning the fineries of being human-like. 

“My dragon,” Hanzo murmurs, though his voice sounds more like worship, a reverent breathy sense of awe that you have never heard from him outside of your mating with him. “My beautiful dragon. You already stir for me, ache for my touch, plead for my pleasure.” His grip gets harder around you, jerking you off in firm, careful strokes that leave you on the edge, but never enough to topple over it.

If you could see yourself, you’d see a mess of glittering, beautiful sky-blue scales in stark contrast to the bright red of your cheeks, tummy, and shoulders. Pleasure leaves you submissive, keening to the human’s heat and bucking into his hand, as if there was a chance that he wouldn’t mate you properly after such a display of need.

“H-Han-zo,” You chitter. “Need–need you…”

“I know,” He whispers, eyes as sweet as honey and expression a mess of growing arousal, “You have me. Let me take care of you, consume you, my sweet, beautiful dragon.”  



	12. White Dress (Reader/McCree) (PG-13)

“Jesse!” you hiss, eyes catching the sight of a familiar face as it peeks into the room. “What are you doing in here?” Your voice is more surprised than angry when you break from your stupor and nearly launch yourself across the room and behind the old, fabric divider where you had changed maybe an hour or two before.

You might give the man the benefit of the doubt, because it isn’t as if the room was marked ‘Bride in Here’, but you figure he had plenty of context clues to figure it out for himself. You worry most how he had even got past Zarya and Mei, who had personally promised to be your bridesmaids-turned-bodyguards to keep such an ornery husband-to-be from seeing you. 

Either he was that clever, or they had gotten distracted with something else.

Regardless, you let out an annoyed huff from behind the divider when he steps into the room, chuckling low enough that he wasn’t oblivious to his doing. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” You say in a half-whisper, as if merely speaking while in your white, delicate dress was already too much. “It’s bad luck to see a bride in her dress before the wedding.”

Footsteps thump over the wooden floor and near you, but McCree doesn’t move past the precipice or step around the only thing blocking his eyes from the sight of you. 

“Can’t blame me for being a lil’ eager now, can you darlin’?” He laughs, and you can feel the warmth coming from deep in his chest. “What difference is it gonna make when I’ll be layin’ my eyes on your pretty lil’ self in less than an hour?” His shrug was nearly audible. 

You purse your lips together and lean to one edge of the divider, peering out with a stern look on your face. You know McCree well enough not to give into his wiles, even if they were part of the reason the two of you are getting married in the first place.

“Because it’s tradition,” You argue, careful not to lean out too much or risk him seeing the elegant dress tucked so carefully around you. “And I don’t want to be the bride that gets buckets of bad mojo because you can’t keep your curiosity down.”

You wonder offhandedly if there’s a similar tradition against seeing the groom, because–

McCree looks downright handsome. Sophisticated, even, though the look was a bit surreal on the normally down-n-dirty cowboy. His suit is pressed and without a stain, his hair is kept and for once there isn’t even a cigar in his mouth.

Regardless, you keep your firm expression. McCree is relatively unbothered by it, and in fact looks rather amused.

“Funny that you say that,” The man says with a smirk, stepping off to the side and out of sight. You lean forward just a little bit more, trying to see where the cowboy had gone. The curiosity isn’t long-lived, because arms are suddenly wrapping around your waist and tugging you back against a firm, warm body, lips pressed to the nape of your neck after pushing the short veil out of the way.

“Normally you’re sayin’ that about something else a’ me and keepin’ it in my pants.”

“Jesseeeee,” You groan, letting your head drop back and against his nose, just enough to make up for the years of careful, superstitious tradition he just broke. “I really can’t afford to get this dress messy or ripped. We’ll have time to get these clothes off later.” 

“I know,” is all the man murmured, his hold gentle and his chin resting on the top of your head. “….I just wanted t’see how beautiful you are in it. Unless you want me messin’ up with all them vows, bein’ all tongue-tied at the sight of my lil’ angel.”

You snort at his sappiness, but the moment doesn’t last for too long, because McCree soon whispers under his breath,

“…But I will be rippin’ that dress off you as soon as we’re alone, darlin’. Show you a real good time.”


	13. Pink (Fem!Reader/Tracer)

Your fingertips trace over the curved metal and leather bits that wrap around Lena’s torso, beginning just under her arm and across to the center of her back where the straps meet with an metalic o-ring. She giggles at the curious touch, but focuses on stripping off her last couple bits of clothing. Gloves, shoes, goggles–mindless little pieces that you wish she didn’t have to wear so she’d pay attention to you instead.

Regardless, the few moments are spent half-productively sitting astride, almost leaning against the woman’s back. 

“…This can’t come off?” You whisper, though the answer feels rather obvious.

“Don’t you worry any,” She seems to purr, face turning to glance slightly in your direction. You can swear there’s a smirk on her lips. “It’s not going t’get in the way of what I have planned for you, luv.”

“O-Oh?” You stammer in half-confident curiosity. When she turns her body around so you could see her naked form fully, your assumption comes to fruition; on her face is the biggest, most mischievous grin. It’s the kind of grin on her face moments before she tosses her sticky grenade and ducks away like a bat out of hell only trailed by broken, burning bits of metal.

By the time you realize that there should be some level of worry, she’s got her hands on your wrists and pushing your body back until you’re pinned beneath her. 

“…Don’t look all worried now,” she coos before dipping her head and pressing her lips to yours. For the situation, the kiss is wonderfully tender, a moment of gentleness–and it too passes quickly, leaving you breathless while Lena is above you again with a look far too hungry for your own sanity. “Though, it is really nice to see you so cute n’ pink.” The woman giggles before releasing her grip on your wrists, but something keeps you from letting them drift. 

You keep them still even as she drifts, face first to your collarbone in a lavishing of kisses and gentle lovebites.

“So sweet and flushed,” She murmurs, accent getting thicker as her fingertips flick over your hips. “C’mon, don’t be afraid to wiggle a little for me.” She tickles careful touches over your hips, just enough until you do as as she asked. Giggles work over your lips as Lena presses a kiss just over each breast, and then to your stomach. The ministrations are gentle, slow, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t work you up something fierce.

By the time she’s to your belly button, you feel hot all over, a fire blazing of your skin so hot that you mindlessly start parting your thighs to make room for wherever the hell she wants to go.

“That’s it,” She encourages the movement with her palms pressing against the insides of your thighs. “That’s a good luv, you look so adorable right now. Blushing up a storm all over.” Another giggle, then hot breath ghosting over the throbbing heat between your legs. You feel her fingers gently spreading you open, and cool air caressing the soft, warm inner folds.

“You look cute an’ pink down here too,” Lena purrs, barely a moment before her lips are otherwise occupied when they suckle around your clit. It must taste pretty damn good, because her mouth is vibrating around you, tongue pressing down the heat of your folds until it’s starting to worm it’s careful way inside you.


	14. Shadow (Fem!Reader/Reaper)

There are days where Reaper is harsh. It makes sense, considering what he’s been through in life, what he continues to endure in his constant half-alive/half-dead state that he only rarely talks about in his most vulnerable of moments. Yes, there are days where he’s distant and cold, wanting to be alone than comforted, and you do your best to respect those instances. 

But then there are days where he can’t seem to get enough of your attention. These are days where he won’t spend a single hour in a day without touching you in some intimate way, whether it was a rub of his palm down your arm, a press of his mask into the back of your head, or even a swift kiss to the lips with a whisper of loving Spanish. Those were the days that Reaper felt like Gabriel; he felt a little more human, and you seemed to be quite the catalyst for the sensation.

Those days were the best, because you knew that it meant the man was healing, however slowly. You gave, and would continue to give, everything you could to make the man feel at least a little better, a little less aching. You were there as often as you could be when he had night terrors, when he disassociated so much that he was barely a man in physical or emotional form.

It was the least you could do for the man you’ve fallen head over heels for.

Reaper notices these gestures, never-ending and constantly selfless, on a fairly regular basis. He often reminds you that you aren’t chained to him, and yet you’re there. He tries to convince you sometimes you’re better off without him, and yet you remain.

At some point, the man must have figured that trying to dissuade you in his own self-loathing wouldn’t work, so he turned to the next best way of trying to make sure you were happy: passionate, possessive, needy sex.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” You hear him whisper, voice as half-physical as his body as it hovers almost menacingly above you. “Lay down and stay still, mi amor. I want to give you a treat–you deserve it.” Though it looks as though there’s nothing but smoke billowing against your naked frame, a sensation of weight is obvious, keeping you pinned in whatever position the wraith wanted of you. 

Apparently that position is exposed, arms up and legs spread. The air feels too cold against your bare skin, made more evident by the icy touch of the undulating shadows. Something else you are used to with Gabriel–he is the epitome of a hot and cold lover in more ways than one. Emotionally, mentally, and even physically–but like many things about him, it didn’t disuade your affections.  


If anything, the cool touch was making your arousal spark even hotter, body half-struggling against his invisible pressure. 

“Gabriel,” you whimper. The sound of his name on your lips seem to send the wraith into a bit of a frenzy, and before you know it you’re being covered, practically lavished in soft, barely-there kisses over your cheeks, jaw, and throat. It renders you silent, but only for a few seconds while the sensations skitter across your skin. “Gabriel,” you moan again, louder, and try to push your wrists against his nonphysical, vice like grip that somehow feels all-too-gentle against your skin. “Please, you don’t have to…”

As if on cue to your moans, the touches get more solid, feeling more like fingertips skimming across your naked hips than tendrils of cold shadow. You gasp sharply when those fingertips start working down between your thighs. There’s still tendrils wrapping around your arms, legs, keeping you still as your gasps get louder and more embarrassed.  


There’s no verbal response at first from your lover, but the soft growl above you is more than clear, cutting through the otherwise stillness in the bedroom. Your eyes gaze, half-lidded, up into the vaguely humanoid face above you when it finally seems to appear from the darkness. From it, a gentle shush falls from the center of the shadow, comforting where others might find it terrifying. 

“It’s okay,” the man growls. “I’ve got you, baby. Let me give you the pleasure you’ve been craving for. I’ve heard how you’ve cried out for me at night, thinking I wouldn’t hear.” His whisper is barely-there, and yet it’s right beside your ear, followed quickly by a soft, but surprisingly warm kiss over the pulse of your throat. “You’re always giving me so much warmth. Always too kind. Too beautiful. Too perfect.”

The shadows start to move harder against you, wiggling against your sensitive skin as Gabriel’s solid fingertips gently start to press between your folds and then, carefully, sink into the velvet warmth of your cunt. The two digits press inside with a hunger, a need to make you sing. A cry escapes your lips as his fingertips find their mark, that aching little spot within you, and his shadows tend almost lovingly to the soft mounds of your breasts.

“My little candle in the shadows,” the shadow whispers, working one whimper after another as he chased you down to your first, powerful orgasm. 

“Te quiero mucho, mi amor.”


	15. Join Us (Genji/Male!Reader/Zenyatta)

You aren’t a voyeur. You don’t take pleasure in watching someone’s intimacy with another while they were ignorant of your presence, gazing with wide eyes and pink cheeks from the other side of the room and peering around a pillar. Even worse, you don’t take pleasure from watching it, the warm coupling, the soft moans and gentle whispers of heated desire. You just…you don’t.

But yet you are.

You’re standing, staring into one of the temple rooms at the lavish display of affection that you know very well was not meant for anyone’s eyes but the pair of lovers in the room. Your eyes take in the sight and do not turn away, even when the realization kicks in that this is something you shouldn’t be watching, and yet you stand there. Your head is poking from behind the pillar, just enough to keep an unobtrusive view at the scene.

It is…beautiful, in it’s own way. The fact that both your master and his other student were in an intimate relationship has never been lost on you, and it isn’t as if they had ever kept it a secret. It is always a bit subtle, out of the way but never rejected. They hold hands, hug, things that would otherwise suggest that the relationship was more than a mentorship. 

This is certainly the first time you’ve ever seen them fucking. Well. Maybe that isn’t the entirely correct word for it, at least in the literal sense, but Genji is definitely sitting on Zenyatta’s lap and he’s squirming, letting out soft little noises of pleasure that you’ve never honestly heard from him before–and they’re so beautiful. 

Genji has always been a graceful man by nature, and hearing those soft, delicate sounds from him are like nothing you’ve ever heard. Despite being an unannounced voyeur, something about the way he arches his back and whimpers against his master’s careful hands pressing against him is enough to make you want to swallow those sounds down in kisses.

Whatever Zenyatta is doing to the cyborg, he seems to adore it endlessly. And it’s….engrossing. You find yourself inching more and more around the pillar. Genji in his master’s lap, back-to-chest, mewls and sighs with every little caress of gentle metal fingertips. Worry soon drips from your brain; they’re facing away from you, after all, and they’re a fair number of meters away from the entrance, obviously too busy in their intimate activities to notice the slight shift of your shoes against the stone tiles. 

Or so you think.

Genji’s head twists to the side, peering just over Zenyatta’s shoulder. It’s obvious that they’ve stopped and you’re suddenly shuffling back behind the pillar, hands over your mouth and eyes tightly clenched. Maybe they didn’t hear you. Maybe they were going to brush it off. Maybe they–

“You don’t have to hide,” came the cyborg’s smooth, alluring purr, drenched in arousal and flittering every now and again from what you can only assume is Zenyatta’s fingers on his back again. “Come out and greet us properly, little one.”

The request makes your heart freeze for a thousand reasons, few of which you can barely begin to comprehend. They know you’re hiding there, they know you saw them.

When your response is a fitful, useless attempt at silence, Genji speaks again. He whispers something soft and low, but you nearly choke when his careful lips speak your name in his whisper. Your name. They know its you.

“Do not pressure the little one,” Zenyatta chirps, a metallic pat of his hand on Genji’s hip. Then that soft, gentle voice directs itself at you, holding all of the same heat, but carefully laced between his words. “…If there is no desire to partake in this pleasure with us, do not feel obligated in the slightest.” 

Hesitation ensnares our limbs and stills your thoughts almost entirely, because you’re still getting over the fact that they knew you had been watching them; not only in passing, but spying on them, peeking in on an activity that should largely remain a private thing. But…

Zenyatta made it sound like he wants you to join them, which throws you off kilter enough that you eventually do peek your head back around the pillar. When you do, your eyes fall over both of them, turned around and watching you carefully. Genji is still in Zenyatta’s lap, and the master’s fingertips are brushing over either side of Genji’s torso and hips. When the cyborg sees your face, he makes a pleased little noise.

“Do not be shy,” He coos, despite the soft noise of chastisement from his master. “Please. I promise, we are not angry with you.” He lets out a little whimper when Zenyatta seems to dig his finger in just right, and its only then that you notice what is hanging between the cyborg’s haphazardly spread legs.

The shape is more than familiar, a thick outline of a dick in the same color and texture as the rest of his synthetic muscles, but it glows a feint green color with how small, almost intricate lines of green mark it. But it’s a dick, no doubt about it, and it leaks a steady stream of precum as Zenyatta probes his hands and fingers into the sensitive little pockets of wires on Genji’s body.

You stare for a moment, transfixed on the sight, the sound of the ninja’s soft moans. You can feel two sets of eyes on you, waiting for you to respond or reject them outright. Your heart races, your cheeks feel red, and time seems to stop for a few moments, minutes, hours.

Eventually, you step into the room and approach the pair of lovers, feeling the way your half-hard dick rubs awkward and painfully in your own pants after just having watched them for a few minutes at best.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” You say, feeling ashamed of your own arousal an almost trying to hide it behind splayed hands over your crotch. “I didn’t mean to see anything, I just came and heard you two and…” It’s not as if they could have missed it, but you nonetheless feel bad for wanting it. Wanting them. Wanting to be part of the love they had together.

It’s something you’ve never dared to speak about with either of them.

“You decided to be curious?” Zenyatta finishes your trail of words, a chuckle held in his voice as he speaks. “Hush now, do not be ashamed of it. Your affections are as open as your heart. It isn’t difficult to see the way that you feel about us.”

Genji echos the laugh, cock twitching between his open thighs just enough to leave you wanting….to touch it. To feel it. To have it in your mouth.

A thin whimper escapes your mouth when you involuntary shift, rubbing your palm just too much over your hardening erection and it felt so nice. 

“Come closer, little one,” Genji coos. He reaches a hand up and out, beckoning for you to near them. “Please. Do not be scared.”

A combination of arousal and desire for his touch is what eventually pushes you past that deeply-set fear, stepping closer and closer to the omnic’s hovering form with Genji sat in his lap. When you get close enough, Genji’s hand is able to cup your cheek, caress over the bone with the pad of his thumb while his palm carefully cradles your jaw. 

“So beautiful,” He murmurs, peering back at his master for a moment before returning his gaze. It was hard enough to meet his gaze, but the man had long removed his mask, leaving his face and eyes visible and....so exposed. You could see the scars, the marks that marred his skin, but you could also see his eyes. They were big and expressive, telling you hundreds of things more than could be spoken. His words of praise were genuine, they were hot, and he wanted you. “I’ve never seen something as wonderful, Zenyatta. Like a blooming flower on the top of the mountain.”

The praise puts a blush on your cheeks, but it doesn’t seem to stop just there.

“I cannot help but agree, my little sparrow,” Zenyatta hums, watching the interaction for a few moments before reaching one hand out himself. He captures your opposite cheek against his palm, soft and gentle for not being flesh and blood. He’s warm. “It should come as a surprise to few, if any, for why we’ve wanted you to join us so many times before.”

“Wh-what?” You stammer, feeling awed at the suggestion. Genji chuckles and Zenyatta, sweet voice and gentle touch, seems to purr in response. Though his hand leaves your face, the touch of two find their way on your hips, gently holding them still.

“Your attraction to Genji and I is not one-sided, little one,” He murmurs, gazing at you from over the other’s shoulder. You pause, if only to look at him, feeling the touch of both hands but watching the cyborg still writhe with pleasure. When you glance downward, you catch the soft, glowing light of Zenyatta’s separate limbs, solid enough to continue where his physical hands had left off on Genji’s body.

The sight makes you moan, and the omnic monk pulls you closer, so much that you’re almost close enough to kiss Genji if you stand on your toes.

Evidently, he realizes this as well, because before you can register your situation there is a pair of lips on yours. They suckle, they nip, they tease, a cross between a passionate and shy kiss that nevertheless leaves you feeling a bit breathless and wobbly.

Another moan, a whimper, all pouring from your lips when Zenyatta’s careful, knowing hands start to shift. They gently start pulling down your pants, inch by inch, as Genji’s lips press to your cheek and jawline. You can feel his erection gently poking against your stomach after a few more moments, leaving warm, wet trails of precum on your bare skin when your shirt is lifted, ever so slightly.

“You’re free to reject our initiation,” The omnic purrs, freeing your cock with a gentle yank of the pants. He takes it in hand with an undeniable sense of gingerness, and gives it a few gentle strokes from root to tip. The motion is so slow that there was no inherent sense of heat in the touch itself, but the motion, the sound of Zenyatta’s gentle voice coaxing you to speak--it’s enough that you buck your hips against his touch and let out a sob.

“Want it,” You whimper, rocking your hips forward. “Want both of you.”

That’s all the answer they seem to need from you, because Genji is suddenly reaching careful hands to your face and dragging you in for another kiss, leaving Zenyatta to explore your skin and body as he drags off your clothes, layer by layer.

You never knew that they loved you so much until they brought you to fruitful, gasping orgasm several times that night, all while whispering little sweet words of love in your ears every time you fell over the edge of pleasure.


	16. Possesive (Reader/Soldier 76)

You know that your heat is coming a couple days beforehand. You normally pick it up from subtle cues–being overly hungry, thirsty, having that weird tingle deep in your belly that never quite seems to go away but lingers just below your stomach. The forewarning for any experienced Omega is normally enough for them to prepare properly for their oncoming heat, especially if they’ve kept track in some other way as well.

But you’re not any normal Omega, surrounded by a majority of betas and few alphas. You’re an Omega who’s part of the resurgent Overwatch and, as what might seem to be one hell of a correlation, a vast number of it’s members were Alphas. And, unsurprisingly, so too was Jack Morrison, Soldier 76 and the kidnapper of your heart.

The downside to that is that he knows when your heat is coming even before you do, often by a whole week. It becomes a problem when he forgets to tell you, honestly, so thick in his own thoughts and instincts to think that it’s a good idea to hover over your shoulder and snarl at any other Alpha that so much as steps close to you. It doesn’t matter who it is; McCree asking if you’d seen his hat, Zarya if you wanted to join her and some others for some sports game, hell, even Mercy got a bit of the business when she approached to talk medical matters with you (and she is a Beta). 

The only one that Jack seemed to respect–or at least not snarl at–was Reinhardt.

Reinhardt, the sweetheart who could become a snarling lion with the right provocation, was the oldest Alpha of the team. He was the resident leader of sorts for anything dealing with the other Alphas, because while most of them had enough self restraint to keep from acting crazy, there was an odd time or two where he’s had to “remind them” that an omegas nearing heat didn’t constitute a desire for attention. It was sweet, really, how he took the time to tell an omega that their scent was shifting or explain the best way to get through it. 

When you had first arrived on the base, he was the one who helped you nearly as much as Mercy had, providing protection from other Alphas that got a little too curious and checking up on you at least every day after your heat was full-throttle. He was a sweet man and you respected him greatly, all the Omegas did. 

When Jack got too smothering, it was always Reinhardt who’d make him back off, just a slight, because such aggressive attentions from an Alpha was one sure-fire way to set off an early heat. 

And of course, it is Reinhardt who’s giving Jack the same look now as he had months before, a careful observation over the man as he kept maybe a pace or two behind you. You had been in preparation for your coming heat (check with Mercy, make sure you have food and water set up, and ample amounts of warning to your closer teamates). 

It’s a process you’ve grown rather used to, and the motions of it are almost soothing, even when there’s a very protective, hovering Alpha hanging just behind you, following you through every hallway–you don’t mind it all that much, but by the time you get to the mess hall to loop back to your quarters, you notice that your Alpha has been getting a little touchier than you’d like. You’re about to turn around and ask him to give you a little room until you’ve shuffled back into the privacy of your quarters, but Reinhardt seems to beat you to the punch and captures the soldier’s attention from across the room. 

Jack heeds the look from the gentle giant of an Alpha, but doesn’t pull his attention away from you. He moves up beside you rather than lingering behind, giving you a clearer view of his expression.

“Should be any day now,” He says, voice just a tinge above that of a growl. It tends to drop a few notes in these sorts of situations, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s going into a rut as well; wouldn’t be the first time the two biological situations have come in tandem. “You have the days marked on your calendar right? And Angela’s looked you over?”

“Yes and yes,” You say gently, turning your gaze back to your overly-worried lover. “It should be starting soon; I just had to check something over with Hana before locking myself in my room for the next week.”

Jack let out a gruff, low chuckle. “You make it sound like it’s not any fun.” 

The amusement in his otherwise rumbling voice is plenty to make you smile, and he’s on you the moment that you do. His lips press against the side of your face, just beside your ear. 

“I want you so bad right now,” He murmurs, nipping at your jaw as his hands reach up, just barely skimming fingertips over your hip. “I’m going crazy just waiting for your heat to happen–can smell it all over you.”

You can also feel Reinhardt’s careful look from across the room, protective grandpa that he was despite being an Alpha himself. 

You somehow manage the will enough to give Jack a gentle press back, your palm firmly against his chest. He respects the motion and backs off, just a few inches, and carefully watches your face as you speak. 

“Are you going into a rut?” 

He’s normally pretty possessive the couple days before a heat begins, but something about him seems….off. He smells alluring, moreso than normal–some sort of seductive scent that you’d almost call pure masculinity. It’s not concerning, but it is fairly bewildering, and something you wanted to confirm than merely assume.

Jack lets out what you can only describe as a whimper.

“I might be,” he says, and sounds only half-sure himself, unable to stay behind his wall of authority when you reach out a hand and gently press it against his cheek. “Haven’t had one in months.”

That made plenty of sense–it also made sense why he was being so territorial ontop of it all, snarling at everyone who came too close and glaring at everyone else. He had been grumpier than Hanzo for the last couple days, and that was a pretty hard record to beat.

“Well lets get back to our room,” You say gently, rubbing your thumb over the man’s cheekbone, and watching his eyes slowly lighting up with the barest kindling of a fire. His thoughts are already smoldering with the suggestion, so you know best than to linger in the room. 

After a nod in Reinhardt’s direction, you take Jack’s hand and scurry off out of the mess hall, down the hallway and to the quarters that you and him shared. 

One of you made sure to lock the door as soon as it slid shut behind you two, a mere moment before clothes started falling to the floor.

—–

Three hours. That’s how long it was before your heat finally started, your stomach turning over knots and your mind going hazy with the first of many thirsty stupors over the next couple days (maybe even a week if it was really bad). It came a little quicker than you would have otherwise expected, but Jack was not a very patient man. His rut had seemed to come in full force from the moment the door was shut, filling the room with his powerful aroma of authority and desire until you wanted nothing more than to succumb to it.

You’re face-down on the bed, completely stripped to nothing, and he’s eagerly rutting against you. Jack’s cock has already found a snug home inside of you, keeping your body opened up and on the edge of a constant pleasure. You can feel his hands on your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh just to keep you in place, to keep you against him while he enjoys what might be the third or fourth orgasm since the two of you started. You can feel the way he empties himself inside of you, claiming your insides with his hot, dripping seed–and he hasn’t even knotted you yet. You could feel the teasing thickness of the base of Jack’s cock in his last orgasm, but it hadn’t swelled up yet, not in the way you remember that it could. His load was a mere trickle in comparison, but it could simply be from you not having been in full heat until now, body not yet sending out signals of your fertility.

But holy shit, it is now.

“Heat,” You finally whimper, dragging your fingers down the sheets when Jack’s cock simply sitting inside of you satisfies a bit of your new, aching need, but not nearly as much as you’d like. “Oh god, it’s started.” 

A bucket of new sensations tipped over from the heavens above and covered you up with heat and need, and it soaks so deep that your belly feels like a ball of aching fire. It’s an ache that has a cure, and it’s already balls-deep inside of you. Jack already seems to understand, maybe even feeling the shift when your pheramones change, but he nevertheless manages a chuckle through all of his snarling.

“With how you’ve sounded underneath me,” The man begins, leaning over your back so he can nibble at the nape of your neck. “I would have thought it started the moment I ripped off your clothes.”

“Jack,” Is all you can respond with, your body drinking up his affection like a sponge. He’s hot, he’s close, and he’s undeniably Alpha. You can feel his strength in his fingertips, the power in his hips, the possession in his voice. “Jack, please.”

The man lets out another growl, so deep that it makes your bones quake and your stomach flip over itself.

“Beg for it,” He commands. “Beg for my knot like the little omega slut you are right now.” He’s inside you so deep, but not moving, stagnant enough that the only pleasure your body is getting is simply from being filled and opened up–and it’s simply not enough. You want more, his knot and his teeth marking your shoulders. You want his power, his protection, the searing heat of his seed filling you up.

Your fingertips scrabble and clench at the bedsheets to try finding a point of purchase, anchoring your thoughts solidly to reality. He’s so thick, so hot, it nearly drives you insane.

“I–” You let out a sob when your emotions are driven up a wall. It’s insane how much you want this man and ache for his touch. It’s a wonder how much you want nothing more than the feeling of him fucking you desperately, like an animal with no greater care in the world than claiming what he loved and desired. “-I want you to fuck me. Please–please fuck me, Jack.”

“Louder,” He snarls, lips just behind your ear, voice hard and breathy. “I want you to say that louder.”

“Please fuck me!” You cry, trying uselessly to wiggle your hips and press back against him, as if to silently coax and entice your Alpha with the velvety pleasure of your walls wrapped nice and tight around his girth. “Claim me Jack, make me yours again, fill me up with your knot and seed and–”

Jack’s hips grind against your ass and stars suddenly flicker in your vision, even with your face pressed into a pillow. You can feel his chest rumbling against your back and his breathing getting deeper still. A drawn moan escapes you. The sound of an Omega desperately in heat.

“You’re so cute when you beg,” He says, half-incoherent but more than aroused enough to keep holding back. The man’s hips start thrusting against you again, sheathing his cock in your hot folds as one hand reaches beneath you to roughly grope at one of your breasts. “Beautiful Omega, my omega….Gonna give me so many pups. So many pups for this old Alpha.”

You moan, he starts to thrust harder. You can feel his knot starting to swell, catching at your opening and stretching it just a little bit more when he plunges back again inside your heat.

“You want my knot, baby?” He growls, and you know that he wants an answer.

“Yes,” You whimper into the pillow as his teeth start nibbling over the soft flesh of your shoulders. “Want your knot, need it. Please. Alpha. Take me.”

The words seem to tap into the man’s inner, chaotic, beastly thoughts, because he starts a crazed pace of motion that fucks you down into the bed. You’re sobbing in pleasure and feeling his knot swell even more, hot and hard and oh-so-thick. His teeth start biting into your skin and suddenly–

The world turns into a sea of pleasure and heat. The only thing that seems to exist when you rocket over the cliff is Jack, your alpha, bearing down on you with his weight and strength, emptying what feels like buckets of his seed when his knot finally locks the two of you together. With a body absolutely doped up on a cocktail of good-feel hormones, you find yourself absolutely ravished with the man’s teeth and tongue.

“So beautiful,” He practically whimpers. “So perfect. That’s it, baby, keep drinking me up. Your tummy is gonna get so full when I’m done.”

You can’t help but smile and sigh into the pillows, because you know Jack is more than right.

You got a couple more days to enjoy eachothers endless, instinctual pleasure.


	17. Lace (Male!Reader/Reinhardt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit of lingerie is left vague enough for anyone to fill in the blanks, [but this is what I personally had in mind while writing UvU](http://pockettokyo.storenvy.com/products/16954221-sheer-ruffle-lingerie-set)

His voice sounds so warm and bright in the air when you hear him speak, like a wind chime in the middle of a breezy summer day. Despite the fact that it’s filled with nothing short of adoration mixed with a healthy amount of surprise, it still makes a bright red flush work over your cheeks. Sure, you could prepare yourself physically, maybe even mentally, but you’re nevertheless not sure how to calm your raging heart the moment that he walks into the door and gets an eyeful of you.

It was never much of a secret that Reinhardt, like just about every other person stationed at the new Overwatch headquarters, had his own preferences and little kinks. It was often easy to forget that he wasn’t just a big, warm innocent man whose life goal was to make people happy. The old German soldier was and still is a very passionate man, a man who has put you on your knees and over his own more times than you can count.

So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when you learned that Reinhardt, sweet, gallant man who had been the poster child for Overwatch in it’s earlier years, was also a man who quite enjoyed the sight of a lover clothed in fanciful, lacy things.

And that’s how you decided to surprise him today, the day marking half a year the two of you have been together. 

The outfit seems to surprise Reinhardt plenty well, since his eyes practically light up the moment that he steps into the bedroom and gaze down at your kneeling form on the bed.

“Mein maus?” He says, looking a little taken back as his eyes shift down your body. “What do we have here?”

You can’t meet his gaze at first, feeling a bit too embarrassed about the whole getup despite feeling fairly fanciful. The feel of soft, delicate lace over your thighs and chest, clings to your form in a way that makes you feel exposed and tantalizing. It’s….new, that’s for sure. Not something you’ve done before, but you can’t help but feel decidedly pretty in the sheer ruffles and lace that clings to you.

“…I remembered what you said when we were talking a couple days ago,” You whisper, wringing your hands in front of you as you heard his nearing, heavy footsteps. “That you wanted to try out some new things and see me in some uh…” You trail off for a moment, trying to remember his exact wording. Your cheeks heat up with the feeling of his eyes on you. “Something…alluring. Lacy and…such.”

There’s a moment of silence, then two, and you’re not sure if it’s getting too hard to breathe or not because he’s not saying anything and you’re sitting on the bed practically naked and oh god what if you’ve just made a fool of yourself and-

“You’re such a sneaky little thing,” The man rumbles, stopping your fitful thoughts as he brings a hand to your jaw. Reinhardt gently pulls your face up so your eyes look at his face and his smile. “This is an excellent surprise, mäuschen. Something I’m more than happy to see after the day I’ve had.” 

That looks to be plenty of an understatement. Though he’s not in his full-body, knightly armor, it’s not lost on you that he’s been training. Whether it had been through sparring, practice missions or simply working out traditionally, you can’t be all that sure, but there are little scratches and a couple bruises on his arms regardless, a thin veil of exhaustion over his form. 

You give your lover a small, shy smile as you nuzzle your cheek against his hand. 

“I guess I better help you relax,” You whisper. You turn your face and press a gentle kiss to his palm and fingertips, reveling in the guilty pleasure of how big his hands were. These are hands that were gentle, but were also hands that could pick you up without an effort and press you against a wall, hands that had power and influence and could give you untold amounts of pleasure.

You shift just a little, but it’s enough to rub the thin, sheer fabric over your skin, nipples, and cock. It’s not a lot, but enough to make you blush just a little bit more, realizing that the material was of course entirely see through. It feels good though, delicate and fragile against your sensitive flesh, bring a little noise from your lips that Reinhardt can’t seem to ignore.

“That really is your color, mein maus,” The man rumbles, reaching his free hand to your body, just so he could caress his fingertips down your throat, collarbone, chest, and then down to your stomach. “It looks so could, I want to ravish that body of yours. Its a shame that I’ll have to take all that beautiful lace off in order to do that.”

His fingers get lower, lower still, until he’s practically cupping your growing erection against his massive, too-hot palm and gently rubbing it against your shaft, playing his fingertips too-lightly against your balls.

You whimper without a care. The lust that grows in your belly is enough to dissuade most of the embarrassment that was there moments before.

Thoughts come in piece as he presses his hand harder against you, practically letting you hump against his palm as he looks on warmly. It brings a fire to your cheeks and belly, a newfound feeling of courage that comes only on the tail-end of desire.

“You don’t have to,” a whimper falls from your lips, hands moving out to grab needily at Reinhardt’s shoulders. Your hips press forward in tight little circles, grinding your aching member into his hand as it starts to peek out over the top of the panties. “There’s a uh…” You try to get the words out, but they’re left like a stone in your throat. Embarrassment, pleasure, or a simple lack of knowledge for how to communicate it correctly–it takes you a fair few seconds before it comes out a lot filthier than you originally intended. 

“There’s a….an opening in the fabric….in the back….” 

All of a sudden, Reinhardt pulls his hand away. You’re left gasping, mentally clawing for that pleasure again, but it comes back all of a sudden in the form of not a hand, but two of them, both gripping your hips and hauling you up until all you can do is instinctively wrap your legs around Reinhardt’s waist and feel him press you up against the wall next to the bed.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice dropping into a growl and dripping with a sudden, beautiful lust. “I wouldn’t want to rip them off of you, liebling; your cock looks too pretty all wrapped up in lace.”


	18. Spider (Reader/McCree) (PG-13)

“I’m tellin’ ya, it was as big as my damn hand!” McCree exclaimed, raising his prosthetic hand up in an attempt to further his argument and explanation. It still didn’t make all that much sense to you, for a man who seemed as rugged and down-to-earth to have such a sensitivity to spiders. Of course, they were creepy, and at times a little intimidating, but you didn’t see the issue with them as much as the self-proclaimed cowboy did.

“Jesse,” You sighed. “You came running out of the bedroom like a panicked chicken just because there’s a little spider in there?”

“Not little,” he asserted, his lips pursed and his expression a slight annoyed. “That thing could’ve killed me for all you know, darlin’.” 

“Uh huh,” You said, amused smile starting to pull at the corners of your lips. “….Would you like me to go get it for you?”

“…Yes please,” McCree didn’t meet your eyes, but you giggle and push yourself away from the counter to give the man a brief kiss on the cheek in passing out of the kitchen and down the hall into the bedroom. You were mildly sure you heard the man say something of a complaint under his breath (probably something to safe face), but it only makes you that much more amused at the situation.

It took only a few minutes to find, collect, and deposit the tiny arachnid outside. It was hardly bigger than a quarter, but you decided not to give the cowboy too much agony over being startled by such a tiny thing. 

Seeing him get flustered and asking you to take care of it for him was pretty much reward enough.


	19. New Member (Yakuza!Hanzo/Male!Reader/Yakuza!Genji)

“Anija,” whispers a soft, but certainly not unsure voice. “The young kobun has arrived, as you’ve requested.” 

The room is dim, but not dark,and the only few sources are that of a couple lanterns leading up the walls. They hang in parallel lines that lead from the entrance to the back of the vast, overbearing hall. It’s cool, but not cold; intimidating, but not horrifying. Though you’ve had a few people explain the process of being finally accepted as a member, none had gone into any sort of detail. 

Hanzo sits at the very forefront of your vision, sitting on a cushion as if he’s the king of the temple–and for all intents and purposes, he very much is. The death of his father was a minor blow to the Shimada clan in the end, and not one they couldn’t overcome. Destiny had given them an heir to the former kumichō, and that had been his eldest son, Hanzo.

You don’t raise your gaze up from the floor, nor do you shift from your position–on your knees, submitting to the man’s thoughts and judgement upon you. It has taken long enough to convince the family leaders that you were worth enough to consider, let alone join, especially when you have no other options to take. 

The same voice as before speaks, and this time it’s directed towards you in a hard, firm snap, “Look up now, let us see your face.” You do so without hesitation, taking in a breath of cold air and flicking your anxious eyes towards the man sitting a few meters in front of you. Instinctively, they move to meet with the man’s hard gaze, but the same voice quickly chastises you.

“Look at the wall!” It’s hard, it’s painful, and you quickly realize your terrible fault and clench your fists even tighter before moving your eyes to the wall just behind him. There’s movement on the man’s face, but you can’t tell whether its disgust or amusement–your life depended on which one that it was, and your stomach flipped in cold, stony anxiety to think that you had ruined your first impression with a stupid, thoughtless action. 

His eyes had been so pretty though, like molten honey, staring back without a word.

A few seconds pass as your eyes hover over the plain wall behind him, and you try not to think about the way your hands are shaking or your heart is hammering. What a wonderful first impression you’ve made already–you’d be lucky if they took you in (since you’re already lucky enough that they’re considering you, since the Shimadas are known to be picky about who they let in).

Just when you’re sure that your chest is about to implode, the clear, low voice of the Shimada leader rumbles through the summer air.

“Rise and approach me,” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to catch. Your heart stops even as you shift, finally pushing up onto your feet and regaining the balance long lost to the sensation of terror and anxiety. After managing the few steps to shorten the space between he and you, you kneel once more. 

Your hands clench, tight-fisted in the material of your loose pants. Everything rested on impressing him.

The gap that separated you and the young kumichō must’ve been shorter than you figured, because you feel a touch of fingertips against your jaw moments before a voice purrs through the air.

“I’ve heard of your strengths.” The fingertips pull at your jaw. It doesn’t take much pressure for you to follow where they want you to look–Hanzo turns your face one way, and then the other. Looking for sigils of other clans, more than likely, any scars that might prove allegiance to another source. “Rumors pass quickly on untethered lips.”

You hold your breath. The lights capture your attention, flickering as hot and bright as the fire in your belly. There’s no telling what sort of decision that the crime lord might come to, as his expression, voice and even his touch is ten layers covered by his cold exterior. It’s unyielding, which is what makes your nerves buzz all the more painfully.

Is he expecting an answer from you?

When neither Hanzo nor his blood brother Genji snap at the lack of an response, you figure that it’s best to keep your mouth shut. Due to the way your eyes are facing, just over Hanzo’s broad shoulders again, you can’t honestly tell where the younger sibling is in the room. He’s always been the quieter one, tending to handle his issues and grudges from the shadows, wheres the older brother had always been the face of the family.

And was it a handsome face.

He was untouched by scars and unmarred by battle, but his entire background is stained with enough bloodshed to last a legacy. Grudges, vices, vengeance and simple whims of punishment spatter his bloody past, even from a young age. He’s not a man to mess with, and definitely not one you’d ever want to cross.

He seems pleased with whatever he finds (or whatever he doesn’t). A chuckle escapes his lips and captures your attention so strongly that you almost break your steady trance and flick your eyes to his own.

Your palms are starting to ache with how hard you’re clenching your fists, fingers pressing so hard into the soft flesh that you wouldn’t be surprised to find blood staining the skin. 

Soft eyes fall to the ground once more, instinctively, just as Hanzo turns his face to one side–no doubt looking at his brother. 

“Bring the drink, otōto,” He commands under a gentle, powerful breath. A few moments pass in silence. It feels like a million years before you hear something again, and it’s only the too-soft footsteps of the younger Shimada approaching the two of you. Hanzo thanks him softly, the only moment of warmth or softness that you’ve heard yet in his voice, and you only assume its due to the familial connections between the two of them.

This is it. You know the next part of the ritual is to share a drink of sake from the same cup, to solidify the newly forged bond of leader and follower, a pact that can only be broken with death. 

You wait for a command to look up, a command to feel at ease–anything other whan the frozen sense of intimidation and gnawing fear deep in the pit of your stomach; you get none of that.

“Stand and undress yourself.”

The command is so firm, so sudden, that you literally can’t find the response anywhere in the deepest corners of your thoughts.

The hesitation, barely a second, is certainly enough that the younger Shimada finds it an offense. He steps up to you from behind (had he been watching from behind you that whole time?) and grips a firm hand over your arm to force you to stand.

“He told you to strip,” the young Shimda growled, lips inches from the shell of your ear as he hauls you up just a touch too painfully. “Now undress yourself, if you yearn so bad to vow your loyalty to our family.”

He releases his grip only when you have a grasp on your words again, letting out a soft, too-shy “H-hai,” and moving your shy fingertips first to your thin jacket. It comes off in a flutter to the floor, soon followed by a shirt, leaving you with nothing but your naked torso exposed to both of the Shimadas’ gaze.

In some way, you expected the treatment as much as you had everything else thus far. Too many times did you hear about someone from one clan attempting to join another under the idea that they could act as a spy. Even if one renounced their loyalty, the marks on their body would be with them for life, ensuring that few, if any other groups would take them in.

Your body is bare of any tattoos, outside the small scar here or there gained through your years of growing. No marks of possession, nor evidence of an already-existing loyalty to anyone but the man you’re standing before now.

Hanzo’s eyes looks over your upper body, drinking in the sight of your naked flesh for a few moments longer than you think necessary to see you’re unblemished. 

“Now, remove your pants,” the brother commands. “I want to see you bare before me, kobun.” 

It doesn’t come as a surprise, but you’re still left feeling like a mess of heat and embarrassment while your fingertips loosen the fabric around your hips. It takes a moment, but you slowly step out of the last couple strips of clothing keeping most of your dignity intact.

Neither of the brothers say anything, but you can feel their eyes on your bare body. They’re watching you for sometime, and you’re not sure what there is TO watch. Just as your torso had been void of any markings, so too is your hips, your legs; there’s nothing for them to label you a spy, and yet they gaze heavily over your naked body more like they’re enjoying the sight of a peepshow than anything else. 

Your skin prickles with worry than the cool summer air, and as much as you want to hide yourself with the pitiful cover of your arms and hands, you don’t dare to disobey or disrupt the crime lord’s heavy gaze. You can’t stop the blush that moves over your cheeks or the shiver that trickles down your spine when someone’s voice finally fills the silence.

“He’s very pretty, anija,” Genji’s voice purrs from somewhere behind you. “If you decide not to take him in as a member, I’m sure he’d make a beautiful bedmate.”

Hanzo’s only initial response is a curt hum, so low that you could almost call it a growl. You’re frozen on the spot, afraid in how the words are being interpreted and the reason for your nudity in the hungry gaze of both brothers. 

You feel trapped, like a rabbit under the gaze of a starving wolf–so much so that your body twitches when Hanzo finally rises to his feet. Desperation to keep calm wraps your muscles steadily, forcing your eyes to stare down at the floor, your hands to stay at your sides.

Hanzo’s footsteps get closer to you and your breath, as shallow as it was already, catches.

Light, too-gentle fingertips press over the skin of your chest. The touch is like lightning, and the gesture like fire. A proper response is utterly lost on you, so all you can do is stand there and pray that you were doing something right in the elder Shimada’s eyes.

“….He is very beautiful,” Hanzo finally murmurs, so soft that you’re unsure if you were meant to hear the praise. “I had wondered what was hiding under those layers of cloth.” The touch drifts lower, pressing down your stomach until-

You choke on a thin whimper when his deft fingers carefully grip your cock. He then strokes you, gently, and you can’t help but feel your body react to the touch as much as the electric emotions buzzing in the back of your brain. Fear. Intimidation. The sense of authority and power is so thick in the air that you can practically drink it, gulp it down like a parched man half-dead in the desert.

You’re half-hard in the man’s grip when another hand meets your skin. It’s not Hanzo’s touch, as he already has his other hand on one of your hips, keeping you still even though you’re too scared to shift.

Genji’s voice is in your ear again.

“Have you decided to keep him?” He purrs playfully. A second pair of hands press against the sides of your waist, pulling you back ever so slightly so that your back is flush against the other’s chest. The bulge between his thighs, grinding against your ass, isn’t subtle in the slightest.

Hanzo hums for a moment, and his grip gets just a bit tighter. That’s when you finally lose a fraction of your restraint, pleasure flooding over fear when your hips gently twitch against his powerful touch. The noise is soft, no more than a whimper, yet it spills over your lips like a flood. 

“He seems to enjoy the attention enough,” the leader says lowly. “I have no reason not to take him in. Think of how he’ll look with our mark on his skin.”

“Start across his shoulders,” Genji muses lightly, still pressing his erection into the cleft of your ass. “Or maybe his chest. I would love to see something along these pretty hips though, anija.”

His lips find the sensitive spot at the nape of your neck in seconds, suckling on the flesh in a way too-gentle and too-rough all at the same time. It pulls yet another whimper form your lips. Between Hanzo’s firm grip around your cock and Genji’s grinding against your ass, the fire in your belly has shifted from one of fear to one of…

Want.

The men have so much power at their fingertips, so much of a dangerous allure, a power beyond measure for most others in the country, and they’re speaking about you as if they’re considering adopting a pet.

Perhaps they are, in a sense.

“The only question I have of him,” Hanzo purrs again, this time next to your ear. His hand strokes up the length of your throbbing dick, pausing at the tip just as his other hand reaches down to cup the soft sack of your balls against his palm. “Do you want to join this family, kobun?” Fingertips are skimming, delicately, against the sensitive flesh. 

Your head swims with pleasure, only dimly aware that Genji’s pulled away from you for a moment, only to return against your back, this time without any layers of cloth separating his erection from your ass. He grinds needily against you while your brain struggles for an answer.

It’s only a whimper at first. An attempt at words, garbled up by pleasure.

“Yes,” it finally tumbles out of your mouth like it was drunk. “Yes, yes please–” Genji’s hands press to your hips, and you can feel the way he moves like a needy animal against your body. “–I will follow every command, everything you ask of me.” The younger Shimada is barely restrained, obviously only a few words away from forcing you to the ground like some creature in the throes of heat. 

“Will you submit to us?” Hanzo growls, just a hair from the sound being a snarl in your ear. His fingers are firm, one hand gently tugging at your balls, and the other barely teasing the head of your aching cock. “Say my name.”

“H-Hanzo?” there’s a trickle of confusion in the name, the sound falling from your parted, panting lips. 

“Again,” he commands. “Beg me to let you cum by the aid of my hand.”

This time, you’re more confident, letting your mind melt into the pleasure, both physical and emotional, of giving yourself wholly over to the man gazing you down like a starving beast. 

“H-Hanzo!” You shout, bucking weakly into his grip and back against Genji’s cock. “Please let me cum. N-need to cum, your hand–f-feels so good–!”

“Look at me.”

You don’t hesitate to shift your face, finally looking at Hanzo’s face. His eyes are blown, and the hazel-honey color is a barely noticeable ring of color that gives away as much of his lust as the deep red flush across his cheeks. He’s panting almost as much as you are. 

Your eyes are locked for a few seconds, and all you can do is whimper, 

“Please have me.”

Genji bites down at the nape of your neck, his growl a shiver against your skin. That’s when Hanzo’s hands finally move again, roughly stroking you over again, at a pace far faster than before. The only difference is that you’re caught in his gaze, meeting his eyes with your own when he finally drives you over the pinnacle of pleasure, spilling your load and leaving his hand a mess of it, but you’re too deep in a haze of pleasure to give a damn.

You’re instinctively pressing your face into the man’s chest, trying to smother yourself in his warmth, his scent, his everything.

Genji comes against your back with a pleased little sigh, nuzzling between your shoulder blade just as Hanzo reaches his cleaner hand up and cups your jaw, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze once more.

Those hazel eyes are really beautiful.

“I will have you,” he whispers, too soft for a man with so much power. “From now on, you are mine. No one else will ever have you.” 

You don’t protest when he speaks, just as you don’t protest when he finally leans in and steals your breath away with a warm, sweet kiss.


	20. Vater (Fem!Reader/Reinhardt) (PG-13)

It was the third test you took, and they were even all entirely different brands. With each of them promising a 99% effective rate, that’s…99% three times, which is plenty more math than you’re willing to think about at the moment–you’re already using more than enough of your emotions and though processes on something else. Point being, if they all had the same result, than it really couldn’t be wrong.

You’re pregnant.

The news hits you like a train straight to the gut. And it’s not like it comes as a surprise persay, but you just….never expected it would happen now, on a late Sunday midmorning, the day after the entire team had a movie night together. It just seems surreal to see the test for yourself, staring down at that little stick with the little, obvious plus sign on the reader.

It feels like you’re standing on air. You can barely remember eventually setting the test down, staring yourself in the mirror, and leaving the bathroom to look for the father-to-be.

You don’t bother to dress properly, since the other members of the base have seen you in your pajamas more times than you can count. 

The search for your lover takes you a couple different places, and although every room yeilds a different, but familiar face who greets you warmly, you have little more than the thought to say ‘good morning’ before you’re gone, pressing forward on the search to find him.

He’s in the mess hall, which doesn’t strike you as very odd, considering the time of day. You’re sure there’s a better way of telling him; a more romantic way, perhaps, maybe even try to figure out how to turn it into a little celebration. But honestly, though you’re not at all angry about being pregnant, it comes as a huge surprise–you and him didn’t even think that it could happen.

The only thought that lingers is the need to tell him.

Reinhardt catches sight of you barely a few steps into the mess hall. He flashes a wide, warm grin in your direction. It’s a look that makes you feel fuzzy inside, like butterflies are bumbling and crashing into the walls of your stomach, and it’s one of the reasons you fell so deeply in love with him.

“Mein mäuschen!” he calls from the other side of the room. There’s a couple others sitting around him; Hana, Lucio, and Tracer. Several others are at a table nearby, eating breakfast, but that doesn’t matter; you gotta tell him. It’s not like it would be a secret for long, if at all. 

You step towards the table and your lover rather silently, bare feet gently pattering against the cold metal floor. You’re not sure if your expression looks shocked or straight-up terrified, but it’s gotta be something interesting, because Reinhardt’s expression shifts to worry.

“Good morning, liebling,” He says, reaching out a hand to gently rub a hand down your arm when you’re close enough next to him as he sits near the edge of the table. “…Is something bothering you? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

“You better not be trying to make a joke about me again,” Reaper growls from another table.

Reinhardt brushes off the grumpy comment, his soft eyes looking up at you from where he sits, waiting for your answer.

You’re….not sure how to word it. There are a million ways to tell him the news, from blunt to cryptic, and you could even altogether simply ask to speak to him privately. There are several pairs of eyes on you in your silence, all taking the same worried look that Reinhardt had.

And then finally, somewhere in your brain, you just decided to….say it.

“ReinhardtI’mpregnant.”

Everyone blinks, and the lion of a man takes a moment to process your pile of words. He laughs after a couple seconds, fingertips gently rubbing against your arm in a comfort.

“You’ll have to repeat that, liebling. These ears aren’t as good to pick up things as they use t-”

“Reinhardt, I’m pregnant!”

He doesn’t speak. Neither does anyone else. Suddenly, the mess hall is silent. Where you had felt maybe a few pairs of eyes on you, there’s suddenly several of them. Everyone is looking at you.

And Reinhardt? He…

Looks fucking estatic. He practically leaps up from the table and scoops you up in his big, warm arms, lifting you up without so much as an effort or care in the world. He twirls you around with his arms around your waist, and it makes you feel absolutely weightless.

“Pregnant?” He cries joyfully. “Ich werde ein Vater zu sein?” You still don’t know enough German to make out the question, but there’s enough context clues to figure it out. You’re not able to answer him regardless, considering your face is nuzzled firmly against his chest for the few seconds he’s happily twirling you around like a feather. 

He does finally put you down again, but he doesn’t take his arms from around your waist. It’s a wonderful feeling, really, to get a hug from the man–it’s body encompassing and warm, like nothing in the world could possibly hurt you.

It finally knocks the surprise from your mind and lets you feel happy about it. So, so damn happy.

“You’re going to be a dad,” You murmur against him. “I took like, three tests–all positive.”

Reinhardt lets out another hearty, loud chuckle that’s nearly enough to warm the whole room with his joy. 

You can already hear the chorus of congratulations from several of the teammates around you both, a couple even obviously more than excited for such lovely news.

It was truly a wonderful, happy Sunday morning.


	21. Come Fly with Me (Reader/Pharah) (PG-13)

Though you knew literally anyone else in the world would find it cliche: she looked as beautiful as a rose. Her skin smooth, her hair sleek, her face covered with an expression of composed grace and--did she wear makeup? You never knew the answer to that, honestly, because it was always near-impossible to tell what was natural beauty and natural talent with a makeup brush. Regardless, she looked as beautiful as a rose.

This extended to more than one dimension, of course, because while roses carried an obvious aesthetic sort of wonder, she too carried a rose’s thorns. 

She was a soldier, a fighter, in both temperament and appearance. Her voice was always firm, serious when needed, carrying the weight of authority that would leave any lesser soul completely aware of her presence and opinion of the situation. 

She was beautiful, and you were, for lack of any better explanation, in love with her. Pharah had taken up plenty of your attention since the day you joined the team, leaving you feeling almost like a child in front of a window, revealing the most beautiful, interesting toy such a young mind could comprehend. 

It had been hard at first to open up, but over the course of a few months you found yourself welcomed by the other members. Though you had varying personal views of them, it was nice to know that Pharah herself seemed to like your company. Though you never were able to work up the courage to tell her outright of your affections, it was always nice to spend time with her. The two of you seemed to get fairly close, joking and telling stories--Pharah quite liked to tell you stories from when she was a kid, growing up in the comforting hold of the old Overwatch. You liked listening to the stories more than you’d ever say.

* * *

The day was cooler than most, especially when the sun started to set on the horizon. There was still a good hour left of daylight, but it was all filtered orange and warm and left you feeling nothing less than the same inside. 

The ledge of Gibraltar’s outter catwalks was the perfect spot to watch it set, letting your mind roll over the thoughts of the day and how you could ready yourself for the next one. 

You heard a low hum behind you, just loud enough to catch your attention and turn your head around to see what was making it. Evidently you weren’t the only one who thought watching the sunset from the catwalk wasn’t a bad idea, because familiar, visor-filtered dark eyes met your own.

“Enjoying the sunset?” Pharah asked gently, hovering up and settling her stance on the metal perch beside you. 

“It’s peaceful,” You said softly, meeting her gaze for a few moments more before gently turning them back towards the sun setting over the horizon of the ocean. “The weather’s been nice too.”

The woman let out a loud, pleasant sigh. The water was practically glittering underneath the soft light.

“It’s the perfect weather to fly,” she murmured. “Not too much wind, still plenty of light.”

“Do you like to do that often?” you asked, unsure if it was something odd to wonder or not. When Pharah turned a look of only mild confusion, you carefully added on a clarifying, “Flying. Just for fun.”

“Of course I do,” she said with a smile, and you could almost see a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Do you want to take a flight with me?”

The offer struck you dumb for a few moments.

“W-What?” 

Pharah’s smile only got wider as she reached a hand down and gently urged you up to your feet, but not letting go of your arm when you stood up.

“Come fly with me,” she urged, tugging you closer. “I’m sure you’d enjoy it--haven’t you ever wanted to feel what it’s like?”

You couldn’t really say no, because it would have been a bit of a lie. A bit of a lot of a lie. So you let her move you, moving your arms around her waist as her own did the same around you.

“Just hold on, and you’ll be alright,” she said. “I won’t let you fall.”

The chance to respond to her comfort was too short, because before you can open your mouth for even a sarcastic quip she was already lifting off into the air. Unlike her usual take-offs of launching up in battle to start crashing down her rockets, she took off gently, but still a fast-enough speed that left you clutching at her body for a sense of anchoring.

Before you knew it, you were in the open air. The Gibraltar base was still within sight, but looked far, far smaller than before. The ocean sat below you, still glittering with the warm, golden light that left it only a few hairs more beautiful than terrifying.

Pharah’s hold around your waist hadn’t lessened.

Despite the numerous reasons to feel scared, you felt...exhilarated. Your heart was hammering, but your body felt light, so light--is that what birds felt like? It was suddenly like nothing else in the world mattered anymore. Just like the two of you hung carelessly in the air above the softly-churning ocean, your worries were the same. They were leagues away, just like the Gibraltar base, just another shape in the ocean floating in your vision.

You clutched at her, legs almost tangled around hers and face turning into her chest.

Her arms got a little tighter, and she whispered your name just loud enough to hear. After picking up your face again, you found her watching, eyes carefully scanning your expression for perhaps an ounce of regret in the decision.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she whispered. “Can you feel the way your heart is beating? Like nothing matters anymore.” 

She looked like a kid, a moment of raw exposure into her emotions beneath that soldier-strong exterior that she could command others into battle with. She was happy, bright, and her eyes looked like she’d been waiting to share the experience with you for longer than you ever assumed. You could hear a distinct layer of expectancy in her voice, waiting for you to agree, to know you were feeling the same sense of wonder and awe in the experience that she was. 

She was sharing such a personal part of herself with you--how she felt the first time she took to the skies herself.

The emotions welled up a little in your chest as you tried to find the words that felt good enough to respond to her with.

“It’s humbling,” you whispered. “Euphoric even. I--” you paused, glancing at the ocean, and then back at her. It’s wonderful, it’s tingling, it’s amazing. The emotions wiggled and shifted inside your thoughts, a churning of words that only seemed to make sense to you. In the light of the setting sun, she was almost angelic, the glint of her armor fusing perfectly with the soft highlight of her skin.

“--You’re beautiful.” 

It took a few moments of silence to realize that you said it, referring so obviously to the woman holding you than the ocean or experience itself. Awkwardness started to seep in your bones when you fought to think of a way to take it back without making it into an insult, to safe face when you desperately didn’t want to ruin the friendship you’ve fostered with her and--

Before you knew it, she’s taking an arm off your waist, just one. Her other took on the effort of holding you gently, still safe against her chest. 

The free hand removed her helmet, leaving the woman unfiltered in her beauty behind that yellow visor.

You had a moment of panic, wondering if she was going to scold you or, worse, cut the experience short, but you were barely able to get past a few seconds of silent terror before--

Her lips pressed to yours. The terror in your chest shifted to surprised warmth, a smoldering fire in the pit of your belly that accompanied the soft authority in the kiss, shutting up both thoughts and words without much of an effort.

Though it felt like an eternity, the entire motion only lasted maybe a few seconds, and soon she was pulling her face back just a few inches to let your gazes meet.

The silence didn’t feel so awkward, simply looking into one another’s eyes, trying to figure out what the other was thinking. Pharah didn’t leave you in the dark for very long though.

“...You’re beautiful too,” she murmured, pressing another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “We should do these flights more often together.”

You soaked in the unexpected affection like a sponge, mind reeling over the question of how long your unspoken crush had been mutual--but it was so nice. So warm. Pharah’s hold on you felt powerful, protective, and she looked absolutely gorgeous under the warm orange glow.

“Honestly,” your whisper fell just over the hum of her armor. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t think I’d mind never being touching the ground again.”


	22. Say You're Mine (Reader/Young!Genji)

Genji Shimada. There was a lot of things that could be your first thought when hearing that name echoing through your thoughts. For some, the sound of the name brought reminders that the Shimada family had more than one son, a younger heir who carried all the brash energy that the older seemed to deny. For others, he was someone they’d personally met, someone who had whispered sweet things and promises of pleasure he’d follow well on that same day, perhaps in that same hour. 

For you, there was only one thing that came to mind when you heard his name: his tendency, undeniably so, to feel possessive of you. 

There was some logic in the thought process, as you were one of the few working servants that the family held in high regard, so he often saw much of you during the day. Your family had been tightly wound with his own, so it wouldn’t seem odd to say that he felt somewhat entitled to your name being one that were loyal if anything to his own.

But he was more than a protective head of house. For some reason or another, the young Shimada had not taken his attentions off of you ever since he met you, a new servant in the household who enjoyed the work plenty well. The Shimada family was one known for it’s less-than-legal practices, but they treated their own rather well as long as they followed their duties well.

Where the late head of the family, Genji’s father, was more aloof to your existence than anything, his son seemed almost on a mission to see you. He spoke to you constantly at first, his words thick with flirting, his eyes heavy in desire. Despite holding an honest attraction to his energy and rather exuberant personality, you didn’t feel like you wanted a one-off thing, something that could even lead down an awkward road if you’d end up becoming too emotionally ensnared with him.

And yet he continued his attempts, trying everything to seduce you, to woo you. You had no doubt that his words were anything less than genuine when he called you beautiful, because others of your family even heard how he spoke to his elder brother of you, but still you relented from his advances. This didn’t come without some difficulty however, because you all-too-often found yourself wondering if it would be alright to give in just once, sometimes even playing along with his flirting and teasing.

At the beginning of Spring, the Shimada family found themselves hosting an allied clan, someone they knew well enough to let them stay in the temple. You found them pleasant enough, with no lack of manners or sense of dignity in how they held themselves. There were a number of men who stayed, and although they seemed to understand the boundaries of curtsy, it didn’t stop some from toeing the line. 

“It’s a shame someone so beautiful hasn’t taken a husband yet.” One might say. “Have you thought of marrying someone yet?”

“You’re adorable,” Another would say, a smile on his face and a look of interest in his eyes that you wouldn’t return. They weren’t mean, nor did they push any harder than that, but it nevertheless wasn’t the attention you seemed to desire.

Oh no, the attention you wanted came after the family left, and in their wake, you learned that Genji Shimada was very, very honest with his affections.

And very, very possessive.

You’re in one of the empty rooms, keeping to yourself during a moment of reprieve. There’s nothing to bother you but the warm light of the rising sun through the open doorways, or the soft breeze that comes through. A book sits in your lap, held by gentle hands as your eyes skim across the page. 

You don’t notice when you’re suddenly not the only person in the room anymore, just like you don’t notice when Genji took a spot behind you. No, it isn’t until his arms are gently snaking around your waist that you feel his lips on your neck, his breathing on your skin.

“You’re infuriating,” you hear him whisper, but not an ounce of venom to his words. “You act as if you don’t know what you do to me half the time I’m around you.”

The expression admittedly does take you back a little, because there’s a layer of emotion in the young Shimada’s voice that seems rather new to you. It’s warm, it’s desperate, and there’s no shortage of curiosity to understand it more.

“Perhaps my ignorance is simply that,” You murmur, letting the man gently pull you back against his chest, his legs outstretched on either side of your hips. “Though you’re never very subtle about talking about how much you want to bed me.” 

This is new of him, the first time he’s ever done more than merely flirt, merely talk about how he wanted to have you beneath him. This is....vulnerability, exposure--there’s a rawness to his speech that simply sounds....possessive. Unsure.

“How could you be?” Genji asks, and his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. “I’ve not been able to speak to a woman without you plaguing my thoughts.”

And then, it all begins to surface. Genji’s attention, his vulnerability, the emotion in his voice. It almost amuses you how it comes to this, the self-proclaimed playboy falling for someone at last, though you never imagined it would be yourself. 

You feel his teeth press over your throat and working a soft whimper from your lips. 

“And then you give so much attention to the men that my father let stay in the temple,” He growls, and you can feel how it makes his nips almost vibrate against your soft skin. “They don’t deserve any of your attention.”

You let your head fall to the side, happily exposing more skin for him to mark with soft, almost playful bites.

“And you deserve it instead?” you can’t help but breathe teasingly. 

“Of course I do,” Genji murmurs. “You’re mine.”

You let him work over your neck and across your shoulder, gently pulling the loose fabric of your outfit over the curve and pooling at your elbow. It gives him more room to work, more room to kiss and nuzzle at the little marks his teeth make with each nibble.

“I see the way you look at me. The way you laugh. The way you smile.” Genji pauses for a moment, and for that moment you’re unsure if he’s starting to back off or figure out his plan of attack. It’s struck down the moment you feel his entire body shift. He moves gracefully, with years of sparring, training and thensome backing up his careful change of position from behind you to being in front, his chest pressing to yours as he eagerly pushes you back.

Within perhaps the span of one quick gasp, you’re on your back, laying down, legs open and Genji sitting between them. Soft, silky fabric pools around your hips as he hauls your thighs over his kneeling legs. When he hauls you closer with his just-right pressure of fingertips over your hips, you find yourself gasping at the hard pressure against your core, even through a layer or two of thin fabric.

“Maybe the gods made you for me,” He murmurs, looking down at you with an expression of softness. “Maybe they made me for you.”

The moment of thought passes quickly enough, and he’s back to biting at your soft skin, working out moans and whimpers like a crashing waterfall from your lips. The only thing to speak of as clothes is a simple, silken yukata, and he pushes it over your shoulders easily enough, giving plenty of blank flesh to start leaving his needy kisses on.

“Mine,” He whispers, grinding his hips even harder against you. “Mine, mine, all mine. You’re the one making me feel like an animal in season--nobody has made me feel like that before.” The words are growled between each kiss, a growing sound of worship that takes a while to click just right in your feverish thoughts. 

Another moan spills when he finds your throat, your jaw, and without warning you’re staring straight into those dark, pervasive eyes that have been in your dreams more time than a person can count. For a moment you’re lost in them, in their beautiful depths as he looks at you in much the same way. You can feel the warmth of the sunlight fall over the two of you, just like you can see the gentle rise of his chest, the careful shift of his body when he finally leans himself closer still. 

There’s only one word that describes the kiss he shares with you: hungry. He pushes in with an eagerness that comes with youth, and a feeling of authority that he’s learned to carry well. Though he shows his power in far more subtle ways than his older brother, there’s absolutely no denial of his holding it over you, his feeling of possession, of need, of heat. He grinds harder against you, making the fire of your belly flicker even brighter. 

You moan his name into his mouth, and he smiles. 

Who would ever think that Genji, playboy of the Shimada family, was so passionately, beautifully territorial?


	23. Dance Down the Aisle (Reader/Lucio) (PG-13)

There’s no denying that Lucio has a way with music. There isn’t a doubt in anyone’s head that his talent is anything other than natural and his passion no less than pure. He’s a man of raw emotion, holding nothing back when he smiles so openly and encourages others with loud, genuine enthusiasm. Lucio is a man of many talents, and it isn’t unless you’re in the center of his awe-inspiring music that this revelation truly envelopes you.

You still don’t know how your lover has the energy for his concerts, as he’s almost constantly in motion, constantly dancing around the stage, from one side to the other of the controls and even having the free moment every now and again to pick you up and spin you around, all before returning to the center of the control boards and excite the crowd of fans into an even more powerful frenzy.

The venue is small, but it feels so large, so open, echoing the sound of his music perfectly from the speakers set up around the perimeter of the room. The imposing screen behind you fluctuates wildly with color, bouncing to the beat of the music and the movement of Lucio’s body. 

He’s a thing of beauty, honestly. You could get lost in watching how he dances and moves. It’s amazing to be a helper for his concerts not only because you’re helping him in general, but because you have a front-row-seat to watch how gracefully he dances, even by himself. 

After catching your eyes staring at him for maybe the third time tonight, Lucio flashes you a too-happy grin from the other side of the controls. He slides his way to your end and gently bumps his hip against yours, making you giggle when he wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Ready for the next song?” he whispers in your ear, and it’s a wonder that you can hear him over the deep, pounding baseline of his music.”I promise you’re gonna love this one.” 

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s shifting over to the next song. You can hear the way it’s mixed perfectly with the one before it, the way Lucio’s careful fingers weave together the sounds to that the shift is nearly seamless, and you’re surrounded by a slow, gentle beat of a song you’ve never heard from him.

It’s odd, but not concerning--Lucio’s made it a habit to show you all of his in-process songs before he even thinks about releasing them, but it’s certainly not something worthy of being anything more than curious over. It’s a little slow for his usual style, almost sensually so, as close to a love song as you might ever hear with his standard genre.

Nevertheless, you keep an eye on the levels and settings, gently swaying your hips and tapping your feet against the floor as the rhythm starts to sink in your bones. 

It takes a moment to notice, but the crowd starts to sound different. Instead of the standard, semi-silent wave of energy that works through the mass of energized bodies, they’re all yelling, almost screaming over the sound of the music in excited waves of voices. It catches you heartily off-guard, looking up at the masses for a few moments, and then finally over to Lucio himself.

He meets your gaze with another of his broad smiles.

That’s when he gets close to you again, this time pulling you with him after wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Lucio, what are you--” You don’t have the chance to finish. The crowd is getting louder and you only more confused. Lucio doesn’t answer you verbally, but finally, he urges you to turn around to see the screen that has been behind you the whole time, assumedly continuing with the visualizations programmed to run with the sound of the music.

When you read the big, bold words on the screen, you let out a gasp.

**“Will you dance with me down the aisle for the rest of our lives?”**

Below the text is his icon and yours, a chibified version of your favorite animal, dressed in wedding geddup and gently bobbing to the beat of the still-playing, slow, romantic beat.

The crowd lets out another growing cry of excitement as you finally turn back around to look at Lucio, your face red and your heart hammering.

He’s on one knee in front of you, holding out a ring with the most beautiful, intricate-looking emerald gemstone. 

Your heart stops, your lungs freezes, but you’re still able to let out the soft, emotional answer to the question.

“Yes.”


	24. ты моя (Fem!Reader/Zarya)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heartily apologize for the horrible attempt at writing a Russian accent ;w;

“And do you have anything to say for yourself?” 

The voice behind you is firm, but gentle, and the authority that it carries is only there for partial show. Nevertheless, the curiosity that hides behind the heat is obvious, and you feel rather obliged to answer it.

“I swear, I was just hanging out with McCree,” you whisper, low, but loud enough that you know she hears. Her hand presses just a little harder on your hips, keeping you still even as you want to move, to wiggle, to get closer to the soft buzzing between your thighs. “Didn’t want him to go insane or...anything...” 

A deep huff of air spills from your lips as Zarya considers the answer, then presses the toy harder against you. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a hair too much that it makes you shake in the hold of her other hand. The only thing that makes the situation all the worse is that she’s barely undressed, and you’re down to nothing, body exposed to the mercy of your lover’s eager, possessive touching. 

Oh, and was she possessive.

She got ahold of you when you were coming to her room, a day after hanging out with the overly-assured cowboy. You’re not sure where the sudden sense of hungry possession had come from, but you didn’t complain for more than a moment when the taller woman had enveloped you in her arms and quite literally tossed you over her shoulder.

That was a half hour ago. Now you’re in her lap, shaking with need, while she sits almost too-casually in the desk chair of her room. The only sound besides her voice and your moans is the low buzz of the vibrator between your legs, the same that she’s used to bring you to orgasm plenty of times before--but this time, you’ve not yet found that peak 

“Please I’m so sorry,” You cry, trying uselessly to wiggle your hips to find a better angle, to press the tip of the vibrator just right against your clit, feel it spreading you open a tiny bit more. “I won’t do it again I swear, I want you.”

Zarya huffed before drawing her free arm around you, pulling you back so that you lay against her chest, her mouth finding the name of your neck and nibbling the sensitive skin.

“I know you don’t vant him,” She murmurs lowly against your skin, twitching the toy just right against your clit. It makes you gasp, arch your back into the touch and feel just a little closer to the edge. “He cannot please you like I can.” You doubt that she’ll let you off so easily though, let you cum without breaking you down into a beautiful, blubbering, begging mess. “Tell me I’m right, little one.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeal, opening your thighs even wider, so your legs fall over either side of her knees. You’re shameless by this point, happily exposed to whatever pleasure Zarya deem’s you need. “WantyouonlyyoupleaseSashka--”

The words are cut off with the sound of another moan, soft and whining as you feel your lover’s teeth bite a little harder over your shoulder. Though she seems pleased by the sound of your wibbling moans, Zarya isn’t a woman who likes to take just a little bit from you. She presses the vibrator harder still over your cunt, moving it around in soft, little circles until you’re shivering against her.

“I don’t know vhat you vant if you don’t tell me,” She teased, drinking up your pleasure with that proud look on her face you didn’t even need to see to know it’s there. “You know I love to hear all of your whimpers.” God, even her voice alone does things to you. Her accent is always so heavy when she’s aroused, growling over the heavily rolled ‘R’s or the sharp hiss of her ‘V’s. The way she bears down on you, holding you powerless, is enough to make you sob.

The vibrator, too small for her hand but more than enough for your throbbing cunt, is already plenty perfect. It makes your belly thrum with heat, your thighs shake with need, your core is on fire. But there’s something more that you crave, something more intimate than the sound of her voice or the press of her hot, but fully-clothed body against you.

“F-Fingers,” It’s only a thin breath of a sound, barely escaping your mouth before you hear her pleased hum. “P-please.”

She doesn’t say anything, but fuck if Zarya hasn’t got a devilish grin on her face, ever so slightly different from the look she’d give an opponent before crushing them into the dirt. It’s a look of amusement and, for you, a look of teasing love.

“Of course you vant that,” She murmurs into your neck, kissing up until her lips are at the shell of your ear. The air goes silent as the vibrator is turned off, deposited onto the desk beside you both. “You always sound so cute. Almost vant to make you beg more for them. Little one, so pretty for me.”

Though you’re genuinely worried she’ll make do on her words, you still feel her hand drift back between your soft thighs, fingertips gingerly pressing between the lips of your cunt and spreading them open. For a moment, you shiver from the cool air brushing over your heat, but the moment passes quickly enough when you’re instead taken back by the gentle pressure as two digits slip inside your soft, wet channel.

Zarya doesn’t hesitate as she starts a firm, medium pace, knowing exactly how to crook her fingers so that it rubs inside you just right. Though they’re not as thick or long as the strap-on she sometimes likes to use instead, there’s something purely intimate that can be said about having her fingers inside of you and her teeth on your throat. It’s wildly possessive and hotter than hell, and she knows it.

She has her fingers sheathed as deep as they can press, opening you up in such a raw, physical way that the sensation alone is enough to drive you dangerously close to the edge of pleasure. Zarya bites harder over your shoulder, purposed roughness to leave marks on your skin.

“Are you close?” she whispers in your ear. “ You vant to cum?”

You’re passed words by this point, legs open wide and pleasurable tears rolling down your cheeks. You not frantically in response, feeling the tension in the pit of your belly, the sudden, desperate need to rut against her hand. 

The woman behind you lets out a low, deep growl and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear with a soft whisper in Russian. It’s permission, just loud enough for you to hear so she can drink up the sounds you make when you finally let go.

The pleasure tears you up, washing over you in hot, fitful waves while your inner muscles clamp down around your lover’s fingers, uselessly milking them, wanting them deeper. Through the mindless, white-hot euphoria, Zarya is whispering, gently, coaxing you through your orgasm with a gentle voice and firm hand, until you’re finally falling into the afterglow.

The two of you sit for a moment in silence, air pilfered only by the thick sounds of your breathing. 

“Well,” You finally say, laughing becoming a thin, sensitive moan as Zayra makes a physical show of pulling her digits out of you slowly, leaving you feeling a tad too empty. A moment passes before you can continue. “...That was....awesome.”

“Can’t help being possessive,” your lover murmurs. “I hope I wasn’t too overbearing.”

“Oh no, no you...you weren’t at all,” You hum, finally forcing yourself to shift, turning around in Zarya’s lap so that you’re facing her. Her cheeks are red and her smile is sheepish, almost shy. 

“Good,” she says lowly, amusement tangling in her words. “Because I wouldn’t want anyone else to see you like this. ты моя, little one. You’re all mine.”


	25. Full Up (Trans Male!Reader/Roadhog)

“….You okay?” 

“That’s the third time you’ve asked that.” 

“And I’ll ask it several times more.”

A soft, breathy laugh slips from your lips at the blunt, forward nature of the answer. He didn’t beat around the bush, didn’t try to make the answer overtly flirtatious–he knew that you needed to hear it up-front and direct, so that’s exactly how he answered it. You’re grateful in a way, despite the moments coming with a pause, a stop to the movements otherwise making you want to curl up in pleasure.

It’s not like the moment is broken or the mood deflated, and honestly his kindness and warmth still comes as something unfamiliar, since you’ve known Roadhog as a teammate longer than you have a lover. His appearance gave so many the impression of ruthless, chaotic barbarism that it’s still so hard at times to accept that he’s so soft. 

You can feel his careful digits shift a little deeper inside you–he’s almost up to a third, having been carefully working you open for the last half hour at least. It was a little difficult at first, but he was slow, letting your body grow used to the thick, slick fingers inside of you while a thumb continued to lazily roll over the bud of nerves at the top of your sopping sex.

A gasp falls from your open mouth when he finally sinks the third finger inside of you, hands grasping rather uselessly at the sheets of the bed. You feel the mattress dip, and then eyes are on you. Again, the fingers stop, frozen inside of your eager heat.

“I’m–” you start, trying to catch your thoughts and words both. “I’m okay…..I’m okay daddy.” The word slips somewhat normally with the rest of your words.

That seems to satisfy the man enough to keep moving, parting his fingers enough so that you start to feel that aching stretch yet again.

“You’re such a good boy,” Roadhog murmurs, his voice a low, careful growl. Even without the mask on to deepen the sound, his voice is still little more than a rumble, a powerful sound that commands attention whenever it’s heard, especially when he normally speaks so little. It certainly does a number on you, the praise starting to seep into your bones alongside the pleasure. 

A hand reaches for and cups your cheek. It’s massive, easily dwarfing your face as you turn and nuzzle it against his warm palm.

“Always a good boy for me,” Roadhog continues, driving his fingers just a little bit deeper in your sopping channel. You know it will be easier to take him that way, though you enjoyed the man’s careful, almost subtle level of assurance that it doesn’t make you any less of a man to enjoy that part of you. He always reminds you of it. “Daddy’s favorite little whore.”

There’s something about how he says it, such a filthy nickname, and still croon it so sweetly. It’s amazing how you can arch up in reaction to the sound of his voice, beg for more in a breathless gasp that even you can barely understand. Oh, how he knows you, knows how to touch you, care for you.

Roadhog finally draws his fingers out when he feels you’re sufficiently prepped, which is only mildly annoying in the end. There is very, very good reason for why you need to be opened up in the first place–

And the reminder comes as he’s pressing his hands to your thighs, opening them up just a bit wider so he can properly maneuver them on either side of his hips. The shift presses you up a bit higher, near the headboard of the bed, but you can’t help but the way your body is ever-so-slightly curled up so he can hover over you, covering your body in his massive shadow. 

He gives you another look, a careful one, as you feel the thick girth of his cock settle over your heat.

“Please daddy?” the soft, barely-there pleasure does enough to make you feel a little shameless, licking your lips and gently grinding your aching wetness against him. “I’m okay, I promise. I’ll tell you if I’m not.”

It’s no secret the way Roadhog’s eyes go darker at the name, the gentle murmur of your voice when you beg for something. It’s something animal, but gracefully restrained, channeled in a way that made you wonder how much damn experience he had with fucking someone’s brains out so good they forgot their own name.

He growls and lets his eyes track hungrily down your body, taking in every curve, every soft and firm part alike. 

“You’re so handsome,” he rumbles, gently shifting his hips and pressing the tip of his large, girthy cock to your entrance. The stretch is uncomfortable, in a sense, a feeling of constant stretching that your body was already someone ready for; his words distracted a lot of it away. “My small, handsome boy. Always open up to good for me.”

He’s pressing in slowly, giving your body time to adjust every inch or so–the man’s sense of restraint is absolutely insane, but you’re hardly complaining. Instead, your hands are needily grasping for his arms. One of them is keeping him held up and above you, and the other is cupping your cheek again.

“My perfect boy,” Roadhog whispers. “You’re so good at taking daddy’s cock.”

He’s at least halfway in by now, and it’s starting to feel a little more uncomfortable. There’s no pain, just….the constant sensation of opening up, more and more, until you’re not sure how much more of him you can physically even take. But it’s nice to feel full, nice to feel smothered, nice to hear the man’s praise and warmth and–

The hand of his moves down to your throat, your shoulder, and eventually over your chest. Careful, calloused fingertips idly trace the scar under your breasts before teasing over a nipple. A whimper works from your lips and he does it again.

Between his words and his touch, you don’t realize that he’s sheathed to the root within you until he lets out a low, gravely moan.

“You’re so tight.”

All you can do is whimper in happy agreement.

He’s filling you up so much, and so well, it’s hard exactly to tell where your pleasure ends and his own begins. Despite this and the man’s constant low growls, he doesn’t start moving until you look him in the eye and shyly nod your head.

And then he’s a beast. Like a ravenous animal in the middle of it’s rut, Roadhog moves with a ferocity few other’s could probably claim. He’s so powerful that the bed rocks, making a constant thumpthumpthump as the headboard hits the metal wall behind the bed, but it only seems to stir him on even more.

You shake, shiver, and cry out with each thrust, feeling the way your body so beautifully clamps down around his length in attempt to keep him inside, keep him as deep as he’s able to go. 

“Daddy,” you wibble. “Daddydaddydaddy.”

“It’s okay,” The man reminds you, keeping you anchored, your thoughts from floating off into the raw sensations of being fucked into the bed. “You’re doing lovely. My good boy.”

You feel his hand start to move again, shifting down past your belly-button until it’s over your stomach. His hand spans almost the entirety of the area of skin, and gently rubs down into the soft, hot flesh as he continues to thrust without a fail in his rhythm. There’s an odd sort of pressure when he pushes down, ever so slightly–and it isn’t until you hear him speak that you realize why it is.

“I’m right here,” Roadhog murmurs in a gravely, low tone. “Feel how I’m fucking you deep.” He knows you don’t have the mental capacity at the moment to do much thinking, so your lover gently grabs one of your hands and directs it down to your stomach. He presses your palm over where his had been, and you can feel it.

There’s a bump. It’s subtle, but there’s a bulge, shifting as he thrusts, and you can feel almost exactly where the tip of his cock is inside of you. The realization is like feeling a whole new layer to the sensation, acutely aware of how deep he was inside you, filling you up so much deeper than you ever thought you could take of him.

“So good,” You whimper at last, wiggling your hips and rubbing your palm down over the bulge in your belly and making fireworks go off behind your eyes. The pleasure makes you start to sob a little even. “Daddy–daddy it’s so good, feels so good. Stay inside me please, prett-pretty please, don’t ever go.”

The subspace hits you hard, but Roadhog is more than prepared for it. He coos and croons at you sweetly, making sure your hand doesn’t move from your belly before he’s holding your face against his palm once more.

“I’m gonna mark you,” The man growls, pressing his lips at last to your flesh with teeth and lips to your collarbone. He takes the time to kiss your skin, nipping and suckling at it until you have a patch of hickies that already ache with his pleasurable passion. He raises his face up afterwards, hips still in perfect rhythm, and meets your eyes in his gaze. “Gonna fill you up full of me, leave you dripping.”

It must be something that you do–maybe it’s a whimper, a flutter of your eyes, a soft quirk of your open, panting lips. Regardless of the specific action, Roadhog makes so damn well on the promise. While he was a quiet man, his orgasms were beautifully loud, filled with a symphony of growls, grunts and groans. You can hear your name somewhere in the midst of his animalistic noises, and, for a split second before he starts spilling his load, you can feel the way his cock twitches inside you against the palm of your hand.

It’s such a wonderful sensation.

And then heat blossoms inside of you, seeping your channel with all of his sticky, hot seed, so much that it starts to leak out without him shifting. It drips down your thighs and ass, and the sensation in itself makes you moan, cumming around his cock while your body uselessly tries to milk him for more. It’s enough to make your belly swell just a tad more, give it an even curve that for a few moments you almost look mildly pregnant.

Basking in the afterglow of such a deep orgasm is so sweet, but it takes you a few moments to realize that Roadhog hasn’t pulled out of you yet.

“…daddy?” You ask, unsure if the scene is still going, body tired and so beautifully relaxed.

The man above you chuckles, the sound so deep that you feel it in your chest.

“Baby boy,” he rumbles and gently wipes a thumb over your cheek. “I’m not done fuckin’ you yet.”


	26. Pride in Perfection (Reader/Symmetra) (PG-13)

“You are off by at least 15 degrees,” you hear over your shoulder. Though you hear no direct words of admonishment, the tone is enough to feel the disappointment. You adjust the structure in front of you, careful twitches of fingertips changing the inner beams until they form a shape ever so slightly different, better even. You think that you’ve corrected the fault in the design, but the voice is speaking again just over your shoulder, a few steps closer than before.

“Now you’re over-correcting yourself--you’re off by twenty degrees opposite.”

There’s a distinct press to the disappointment in tone. She doesn’t need to tell you it directly for the feeling to sink into your bones like an unshakable chill. It grips you as hard as fear, simply wanting to do the right thing so that she’s impressed, showers you in little words of compliment and encouragement and--

It took a few moments to notice that your emotions were staring to break through your focus, fear turning the solid, smooth shape of criss-crossing light beams into a fizzling mess. You hear a soft scoff behind you, and then there’s a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Calm yourself,” a woman’s soft voice whispers. “You’re letting panic ruin your design.” She let her words sink in your mind for a few moments before gently tapping at your arm, which slowly shut down the control mechanism that lead down the long, thin glove into the palm. Though it was as solid as a real object, the structure in front of you flickered into nonexistence in as short of time as it took to blink.

And you blinked, arms held out uselessly as you tried to mentally review what just happened.

A delicate hand grabbed your chin and turned your face to the side, and you caught the soft, focused expression of both lover and teacher gazing at you from a foot or so away. Intimate, but not overbearing.

“....You’ve been pushing yourself too hard in these tests,” She whispered, dark eyes holding more than her lips would ever shape. The barest flickers of those deep hazel eyes always communicated more than she herself ever did, but for more a lack of ability than a lack of desire to talk. Sensitivity in the way her eyes look at you grew, almost as much as your simple, almost childish desire for her approval.

When her thumb wipes away a a tear curling down your cheek, you let out a small hiccup of noise, something that might have been words if they weren’t garbled up. You’re crying? The fear of further disappointment grows, for getting worked up so much over something so simple, something she herself could construct in barely a few seconds, something--

Her other hand is on your face, soft, cool metal a sharp contrast to your burning skin, red with embarrassment.

“You are done for today,” she murmurs. “There’s no point in continuing in this state. Come now, you’re alright.” Her hair is loose today, gently falling over the shoulders of her casual, yet still pristine work uniform. You can see a firmness in her gaze, but for some reason there’s a lack of hard chiding that would make you think she’s about to give you punishment for being so crude or uncouth in the application of the design. It was a simple cube, infrastructure consisting of solid, straight beams, and still you managed to mess it up.

if someone asked you to describe your relationship with Satya, you’d have a hard time coming up with much of an answer. She’s many things to you, things so different and yet so closely linked that it was difficult to see where one thing stopped and another began. Teacher, mentor, lover, caretaker. It’s hard to recall the day she met you, offering you a place in her company when she realized that you had talents that your peers sadly lacked. Potential, she had said. You have exquisite amounts of potential.

The Vishkar corporation had never held a positive side in your thoughts, especially not when they came to your home with the mindset of ‘fixing’ all of what they considered wrong with it, but at least you were better off in the end. A home, a solid paycheck, and a lover. The last thing didn’t exactly come with the job, but slowly developed from the relationship you fostered with the woman who first offered you a place to belong.

Satya Vaswani was, and is, and amazing woman. Her talents with hard-light are beyond anything you hope to know, and yet she still encourages you to learn, to try, to build.

Within a few minutes, she’s leading you out of the training room, gloves stripped from your arms and her hand in yours.

“You’ve been distracted as of late,” Satya says. “I don’t believe you care to tell me the reason why?”

Silence. Your eyes are down at the floor, simply trusting to walk wherever she led you. The woman takes a moment, a moment in case you want to speak, but doesn’t press the question much further.

The two of you are in her main office not a while after. When her hand lets go of your own, you step over towards the seat in front of her desk. Satya stops you with a noise, not so much a word as a sound to get your attention. With a slight surprise your eyes flick up to her face again--she’s sitting at her own chair, the one with the wide seat and soft, comfortable arm rests. It’s not leather and not silken, but some combination of the two that feels almost luxurious against your skin, something she might have personally requested instead of simply using a hard-light construct herself. You think it might remind her of something or somewhere, but you’ve never asked her personally.

The woman’ sitting cross-legged and with a stature that might otherwise give the impression of royalty, makes a gesture with her hand, towards herself.

It’s a familiar gesture.

The movement taking you to her seat is unsure, careful; she’s never once pulled a trick on you for her desires, so it’s odd that you fear it now. Fear that she’ll find you less than what she thought, something not worthy of keeping. It’s a Vishkar mindset. You have to remind yourself of that--it’s the mindset of a company, and not one that she shares.

You’re in her lap not a few moments later.

She doesn’t so much wrap her arms around you as she loosely hangs one arm over your hips, just so her fingertips could rub over your side in a small, but comforting gesture. It was rare that she ever completely enveloped you in her arms, and she’d explained why already that she simply couldn’t do that much on some days. But she always made up for it, with days like today.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that, your head gently against her shoulder and chest, one of her arms holding you against her while the other sits on the arm rest just behind you. The only sound that mixes in the air is your own breathing. Soft inhales, and even softer exhales. It’s a measured cycle, almost in tune with the sound of her beating heart as you hear it in your ear on her chest.

Ba-dum...Ba-dum...Ba-dum...

At some point, the sound is broken, but only by the careful tone of Satya’s voice. It’s measured, never too loud, and it rumbles through her chest as she speaks, lulling you even as you try to acutely listen to what she has to tell you.

“I understand that what I ask of you is difficult,” She murmurs. You feel a shift, and then there’s a hand in your hair, gently rubbing fingertips against your nape and up your scalp. It’s so soothing.

Satya sighs, and then continues with an almost maternal tone to her words--well, what someone else might say /almost/. It’s very maternal, in it’s own way, the two of you having found a nice medium place in terms of intimacy in the relationship, one that made both of you comfortable despite your emotional and personal setbacks and lack of experience.

“Being a hard-light architect is one of the hardest talents a person can develop, and there must be a talent already there to properly foster.”

Is she going to chastise you? Is this the softness that comes before the scolding? Regardless, her touch is more soothing than a tranquilizer, leaving you loose and evenly breathing, just waiting for her words to shift.

“....You show more promise than so many of your peers. I am proud of you, dear one.”

Pride was not something you expect from her, at least not today, not this week, when everything seems to go wrong and never as they should. Not when everything you make is broken.

Whether she had come to expect your reaction of surprise or you give some physical cue, she’s rubbing her metallic fingertips even harder over your scalp in an unspoken attempt to soothe. Her other hand is caressing up your side, your chest, and up to cup your cheek so you have to turn your gaze up and look at her.

“You are always perfection to me,” Satya whispers, just loud enough for you to hear in the intimacy of the air. “Perfection that has yet to reach it’s peak. You will get there in time, and everyone will see how beautiful you are as I do.”

There’s beauty in her eyes. Acceptance. Wonder. She doesn’t break the connection after a couple seconds either, letting the two of you simply stare into one another’s eyes in a moment of rare intimacy that you know is sometimes overwhelming for her--and it makes the moment so much stronger.

You open your mouth to speak.

“May I....?” you’re almost not brave enough to ask, but your lover knows what you want to say. She hums and presses her hand to the back of your head, pushing up so your lips meet in a gentle, soft kiss.

It’s so intimate and warm, a soft moment of assurance in the weight of so much anxiety, a worry of simply not being good enough for what she--no, what the Vishkar corporation--expects of you. Sometimes its simply too much, and Satya knows it.

She doesn’t always understand how to help, but in her eyes lies a softness, a fondness that she sometimes doesn’t have the ability to speak, the words to explain.

Sometimes all she’s able to do is give you moments like this, a maternal, soft presence in your life, holding you in her lap and pressing soft kisses over your cheeks, assuring you in little whispers,

“I will always be proud of you, my little one.”


	27. Overwhelmed (Reader/McCree)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might be curious; the reader in this chapter has an extreme touch-aversion as part of the request. I never give the reason a name, but there are multiple reasons that someone can develop this sort of aversion to particular sensations. This can either be acutely, such as during a panic attack or high-anxiety, or more commonly occurring for people with various forms of autism.

“Jesse-” your voice cuts off abruptly. “ **Stop**.” The touch on your leg pauses, fingers hovering just over your knee. You don’t even give your boyfriend a couple seconds to ask what’s wrong before you’re yanking the limb away from his hand, pulling it so your knees are up to your chest. 

It wasn’t as if the two of you are sitting all that close to one another to begin with as it is, simply sharing the couch in the rec room of the base, watching some show or another that Jesse had been so bent on watching with you. It was entertaining overall, but at some point the man’s well-meaning touch of his hand on your knee became just too much to bare. Your nerves started to feel hot, burning, near-painful until you simply had to stop that tracing thumb over your kneecap.

At least he has the sense not to make a big deal about it, but there’s a defined surprise in Jesse’s dark eyes when the two of you briefly exchange glances. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel it’s appropriate to give him some short explanation.

“I’m a yellow right now.” your skin feels like it’s prickling, burning where his touch had lingered just a bit too long. “....Almost at a red.”

The terms strike in familiarity over McCree’s face, and he accepts your explanation without complaint. It has been a week or so since the two of you had set up the system, and so far it seemed to be doing well if it wasn’t for how damn guilty McCree looked whenever you had to force your mouth open and words to come out about his touch; it hurt, it was too much, your brain overly-focusing on the contact as if it burned.

“I’m sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, trying to act like it doesn’t bother him. “Didn’t realize you weren’t green anymore.” It’s a set of words you’ve heard a couple times already, and words you’d probably never stop hearing.

* * *

 

The system was a simple setup, formulated when the two of you got to a point in the relationship where it almost looked like it was crumbling apart. You hate being touched on some days, hate the feeling of repetitive motion against your skin. Some days it feels like you’re too sensitive for touch, so much that even wearing some of your clothes feels painful. 

It confused McCree a little at first, since he was a man who fully-embraced, if not outright encouraged, a constant physical intimacy with those he loved. 

So of course, to make it easier to communicate these complicated levels of sensitivity with him, you started using a color system. Green were good days, days when you could handle a touch, a hug, even the pressure and weight of him above you while he was beating the headboard of the bed something fierce into the wall with the force of his hips.

Yellow was a bit more tentative. He had to ask explicit permission--or at least give warning--if he was going to touch you. Even with warning, things were a little harder to handle. Touches were a bit painful, rubbing against your skin like shag carpet. Sometimes you could get buy and allow McCree the simple pleasure of how he showed physical affection, but other times it was just....too much. He took the warning in stride though, making the effort obvious of not touching you by offering more in his words than in touch.

Red days were the worst of them all. You couldn’t be touched. At all. Every single caress was painful, a fire over your nerves that smothered your mind in a sense of panic. Jesse had learned the hard way not to risk it in such a state, because the first time you had to tell him ‘I’mredI’mreadI’mreadstopplease’ he had been completely genuine and meant nothing but comfort and gave you an embrace after you told him you were feeling a little down.

The pressure of his arms around you had set off a panic attack.

It took an hour or two for you to slightly settle down, leaving McCree looking the most terrified you’ve ever seen of him. Still, he remained with you in your room, obviously afraid to so much as get close but constantly talking to you in that low, comforting rumble.

Some days were harder than others, but the two of you found ways to work through it.

* * *

 

It’s later that night, after the incident on the couch. McCree had done plenty to respect your space after the warning, keeping to his side of the couch but not stopping that warm, gentle rumble of his voice as he commentated over the television show. He never lingered on the issue, never made you feel bad for your sensitivity. He felt guilty often, you can see it in his eyes, but he was a man who knew how to steer the conversation and tone.

The two of you hang out together for the entirety of the evening, until most of the others have already called it a night and retired to their quarters. When the latest episode ends, you and McCree finally decide to do the same.

You both walk down the hall without holding hands. 

When the two of you finally pass your room, he stops and turns. He’s ready to tell you goodnight in the best way he could, since you know your room is still an option for you on the worst of nights. Both of you don’t speak for a moment as you glance towards the door, and then back to McCree’s warm, loving eyes. 

How this man puts up with so much without so much as a gripe never ceases to amaze you. For all you (and him subsequently) have to endure, he’s never stopped saying that he loves you.

And he opens his mouth to say just that.

“I...hope you sleep well tonight, darlin’. You got my number if you need t’call me alright? I love ya.” He pauses a moment, then purses his lips before saying the rest of what lay on his mind. “...I know uh, you said that you were....well, before. Are you okay enough fer’ me to.....kiss ya?”

You blinked, staring up at him for a moment while your brain tried to wade through the multitude of thoughts stilling your lips. He’s so shy about asking, almost as if he think’s you’ll get angry for it, because he wants your comfort above his own.

You nod your head gently, not focused enough to form the words of permission and hoping that your body doesn’t fuck up at least the smallest gesture of love from him. You love how McCree kisses you, how he touches you, and would have it every day of the week if not otherwise debilitated. 

He leans into you a bit, just enough to press your lips together and never more than that. You expect a fire, a storm of pain, a sudden pickup of thoughts to send broken warnings of panic through your mind, but nothing of the sort happens. It’s....pleasing, for once. Warm, soft, and a million things that don’t include the word ‘panic’. You’re surprised by the shift and linger for longer than you would have otherwise.

McCree doesn’t take more than what he’s asked for. He gives you a few more words of love before stepping around you, ready to spend the night by himself so you don’t feel uncomfortable with sleeping in the same bed on such a brightly-colored day.

He’s surprised when you grab his wrist and stop him.

“Jesse,” you say. Your voice is so soft, so small--it’s almost as if you’re afraid speaking would suddenly change the color. He immediately stops and turns his eyes towards you again, half-worried that something’s wrong, and half-curious about what you have to say. “....I think I want you to fuck me tonight.”

McCree lets out a rather undignified noise of surprise.

“You think?” Jesse asks, caution lacing the words as he turns around fully to face you. “-Or you know? Real important difference there, darlin’.”

You puff out your cheeks before letting out a loud, over-emphasized sigh.

“I _want_  you to sit between my thighs and fuck me into your unmade bed with that thick cock of yours.”

There was a beat of silence. McCree’s eyes practically lit up to the crude filth of your words and he didn’t hide the way he licked his lips.

“Well now,” He murmurs, taking a step closer before scooping you up into his arms. “Looks like I better be makin’ up for some lost time today with ya’.”

* * *

 

There’s always such a possessiveness to McCree when he fucks you. There’s always so much touching, so much growling, so much sensation that you’re honestly surprised that you can take it even on your good days. But logic be damned if you’d complain about it for long, because McCree is also a man who knows **how to fuck**. 

He’s sitting between your thighs, and your legs are wrapped around his waist. You can feel the hot, heavy heat of his cock against your inner thigh, since he’s been focused so much on touching you first. He drinks up the occasion like it’s a fine wine, always so happy to give you the level of touch and intimacy you truly want when your body is cooperating. His hands on your skin, his lips nibbling at your throat--it’s all a beautiful symphony of pleasure you’d give up for absolutely nothing.

“Still good?” the cowboy says into your skin, but not pausing the way his fingertips gently rub and flick over your chest and nipples.

“Yeah,” you breathed, arching your back up when he pinched one hard nipple between his metal fingertips. “Oh--Oh god, yeah, so green right now, so fucking g-green.”

It was all the encouragement that Jesse needed to continue, spending just a few moments more in loving your skin before you could feel him shift, one of his hands gone from your chest so he could gently direct his cock and press the hot, twitching head against your entrance.

McCree glances at your flushed, needy expression for a moment more before he finally presses inside. He sheaths himself in your heat in one fluid motion, filling you up so perfectly that all you can do is arch your back and scrabble for a hold on something--the bedsheets, Jesse’s discarded serape, or even your lover himself.

You _love_  his dick, for all the effort you have to exert sometimes just to get to it. You love the way it opens you up, the way it throbs inside you, the way it feels when he’s spilling one hell of a mess and pulls out all sloppy when the two of you are finished and are almost giggling for the ridiculousness of his dirty talk.

That initial press of him, opening up your heat with a delicate yet powerful push of his hips, is always heavenly.

The growl he gives at his side of the pleasure is one of perfection; it rumbles from deep in his chest, a possessive, protective sort of sound that he only ever makes when he’s inside you.

“Darlin’,” He finally leans down to the side of your face, his hands pressing on either side of your head so that he has a good leverage over you. “Oh fuck--darlin’, you’re so damn good, feel so good. What didja wnat me to do now? Fuck ya into the bed?”

Your answer is little more than a breathy whimper. Hands move to grab at Jesse’s shoulder as he starts a hard, perfect pace, letting his cock slide oh-too-perfectly inside you and hit all the best little spots. 

“Jesse--” 

“Darlin’?”

“I love you.” 

The sound is so soft from your lips that even you have a hard time hearing it over the constant slam of the headboard against the metal wall. McCree’s pace falters for a moment as he stares down at you, your warm smile and sweet eyes, your perfect beauty that he’d fall for a hundred times more.

And then he’s kissing you, so deep, so hot, that it almost lights up your nerves with pleasure as much as his dick does as it slams inside you. 

“I love ya too,” He whispers against your lips. “Love ya so much. Never wanna let you go no matter what. Always there fer’ ya.”


	28. Method of Meditation (Reader/Zenyatta)

“My dear, you need to relax more,” purrs a careful, gentle voice just beside where you’re sitting. “I can see how tense you are from the other side of the room.” It’s hard enough to ignore a voice so soft, and harder still to ignore the touch that comes mere moments after that. The hand on your shoulder is cool to the touch, but warm in a way that was distinctly alive, humming with concern and care that few others could emulate.

The touch itself slices through the tight, unseen rope holding your muscles as firm as rock, and you finally let out a deep sigh and let your shoulders drop.

“I’m trying to relax,” You mumble, finally turning your face over to see his familiar faceplate. He’s taken a spot next to you, cross-legged and no shortage of careful worry in how he looks at you–never before did you think that an Omnic could show such emotion on an unblinking, unwavering metal face, and yet you felt how much he cared about you with every soft touch, every careful murmur of advice. “Believe me, I’ve been trying for the last couple hours.”

Your attempt at placating Zenyatta’s worries don’t work, as his hand didn’t lift from your slumped shoulder, nor do you want to lose his touch.

“Perhaps you’re not trying it in the right way,” he says gently. He gives you a moment to take in the advice before his hand is sliding down your back, pressing against the shoulder blade closest to him. “If you’re too focused on trying to meditate, then you will never get any peace from it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” You retort, perhaps a little bit too harshly. It isn’t if you can help it, since the last week has been nothing but one bad day after another. “What am I supposed to do then? I can barely sleep, I’m too tired to spar, and I can barely focus on this.” The entirety of the situation, the fact that you’re out of ways to relieve some of the stress bubbling in the back of your mind, only proves to worsen it.

Zenyatta hums for a moment without an answer, leaving you to try and close your eyes, find a point and just….breathe. Something. The mental force in the attempt is almost enough to make your head start to hurt, your hands grasping at the bend of your knees and your heart starts to race and–

You feel another careful touch, fingertips of two hands instead of one brushing against your back. The suddenness of it pulls you out of your cycling thoughts, but it isn’t until those same gentle, but too-powerful hands are grabbing your hips and pulling your body back into the Omnic’s lap that you react to it.

“Z-Zenyatta?” You question, half-confused and half-flustered by the intimacy, sitting in his lap, your back pressed against his chest. You can already feel a gentle hum in his body as his hands wind around your torso.

“Perhaps a different method of relaxing is needed,” He whispers, gently pressing his faceplate against the side of your neck. “Perhaps what you need is a little…help?”

It’s not hard to detect the playful quip in the monk’s soft words. You let it roll over you for a few seconds, the offer, taking it in bit by bit as Zenyatta’s fingertips rub gentle, little circles against your upper stomach.

When was the last time you got off anyway? Between missions, briefings, and multiple piss-poor attempts at sleeping, you barely have enough time to think or eat, let alone anything else. But the promise in his voice, the ginger press of Zenyatta’s fingertips against your body–it’s certainly enough to pique interest in both curiosity and physical desire.

“What kind of help are you proposing?” You ask in a breathless, careful whisper.

“Mere….guidance,” The monk replies. His hands finally start to move, your consent as obvious as the pleasure you’re beginning to take in his subtly intimate caress. He gently curls his metallic fingertips beneath the hem of your shirt, pushing it up as he trails them back to your chest, only this time touching bare skin. The humming grows more obvious in Zenyatta’s chest, enough for you to feel as a constant, low vibration that seems to trail down your spine.

He pushes more cloth away, but makes a show of his hands moving up your chest until he’s barely rubbing over the soft, little nubs that pull a gasp from your lips. It vaguely sounds like his name, but the letters are too jumbled up to tell for sure. It does make the monk chuckle though, to hear you like that, to feel the gentle warmth from your bare skin against his palms.

“What you need is a careful hand to show you how to relax properly,” The monk says, his voice even softer than before. “Because I assume your own hasn’t been enough.”

You don’t respond to him, but you certainly don’t need to--Zenyatta seems to read your mind well enough.There’s a new edge to his words though, something that takes a few seconds to place. Lust. The emotion isn’t foreign from the omnic behind you, and nor is it surprising in itself, but it does distract your thoughts enough that you don’t notice one of his hands isn’t on your chest anymore. He brings it up to your face, then gently taps at your lips with two careful digits.

“Open,” he says in a gentle, but firm command. You comply without question, parting your lips just enough to let the metal fingers slip inside and against your tongue. Curiously, you press your tongue over them, feeling the smooth texture where there might be rough pads or callouses on a human. The sharp, metallic taste you expect against your tongue never comes, leaving you to explore each tasteless, warm finger until Zenyatta decides that it is enough. His motions are neither quick nor jerky, but he manages to draw a moan from your lips when he finally pulls his hand away from your face, the other already at your pants, gently working them open.

“You’re free to tell me to stop,” he murmurs gently, waiting for some sort of rejection or resistance. You give him neither. It doesn’t take more than a few moments for him to carefully work your pants off, letting you kick them across the room to be cared about later. Before you’re able to collect your thoughts again, Zenyatta’s free hand is on your thigh, pulling your legs apart while the spit-slicked fingers of the other gently presses towards the heat between them.

A gasp from your lips make him pause, if only for a moment, his fingertips merely tracing your entrance and teasing you with pressure.

“Are you enjoying this already?” Zenyatta whispers, somehow breathless and filled with amusement. “I’ve barely touched you, my dear.” He teased his fingertips against you with a touch more pressure, barely pressing against your core. For a moment you think you can get by without an answer, murmurs and moans your only reply, but he doesn’t press further. He teases you, fingertips tracing your entrance and humming body pressed to your back.

“Z-Zen?” You’re confused why he’s not going farther when you obviously want his careful touch. “C’mon, please…”

“I asked you a question and you haven’t answered it,” he says, simple and innocent as if your legs aren’t spread open, hips twitching for the delicate stretch of his fingers inside you. “Are you enjoying this already?”

You let out a soft sob, understanding his game.

“Y-yes,” a whisper works from your lips. “M-more….please?”

The Omnic lets out another low, breathy hum as he considers the plea.

“You’ll have to be more specific in what you crave,” he finally says, though you are rewarded with just a little more pressure. It’s barely enough to dip his fingers to the first knuckle, but enough that the teasing, careful touch against buzzing nerves makes you whimper. “How else can I help you if I know not what you want?”

The tension in your body is taught as a rope about to snap, instinctively seeing out a pleasure that you know would offer some relaxation, even if only for a few minutes. Just when your lips part to beg for more however, you’re greeted with another hand--several, in fact, each of them giving a new part of your skin a soft, almost buzzing attention.

A touch on your arm, on your chest, your stomach. There’s a second hand on your thigh now, keeping them spread open and your heat exposed to the cool air and Zenyatta’s teasing touch. As much as you try to press your hips forward in attempt to deepen his fingers inside of you, there’s hands keeping you still.

He wants to drive you insane, surely.

“Master….” The word bumbles out of your mouth messily, seeing if the term might interest him further. “I want--want your fingers. Inside me.” 

“Ah, of course,” Zenyatta says, almost to himself, as if it wasn’t something he gave much consideration beforehand. “But my fingers are inside you, are they not?” As if to emphasize the statement, he parts the two digits just barely inside of your heat, stretching your rim enough to pull another moan from deep in your chest. “Do you perhaps want more of them?”

“Yes!”

He chuckles again, and every one of the hands on your skin seems to move with a new excitement, brushing over your skin so lightly that it makes you practically shake. Fingers rub and flick against your nipples, caress down your arms, grip needily into the soft flesh and muscle of your thighs as he finally--oh so finally--sheaths the full length of his fingers inside of you. It’s a gentle slide and one that fills you up, just enough to arch your back and fight against the hold the Omnic has on your hips.

“That’s it,” he coos after a moment. “Let your body relax, dear one. Enjoy the pleasure and relax…” He starts to thrust his fingers inside of you with soft, but careful motions. Everything from the purr of his voice in your ear to the grip of his hands on your hips--it all coaxes you into a subspace of pleasure and calm that you never would have hoped to achieve on your own.

His voice only makes it worse.

“Listen to yourself, how sweet you are my dear.” Zenyatta crooks his fingers inside of you, just enough so that he's rubbing perfectly against your sensitive, inner walls. You can feel his cool faceplate against the side of your neck, the only stark contrast to the heat that builds between your thighs and deep in your belly. “How well you open up to my fingers. Can you take another? Let me open you up just a little more?”

Another finger slowly works inside of you not a moment later, gently stretching your rim around it and for a moment, you tense. Zenyatta slows almost immediately, petting one of his golden, ethereal hands down your side and over your stomach in a soothing motion before moving forward and finding his same pace again.

“Such a good student,” He purrs after a moment, practically drinking up your pleasure and noises as if they’re the only thing to sustain him. “You cry out for me so beautifully. Are you close to cumming, dear one?”

A gentle motion of his fingers inside you yanks a sob from your lips. He seems to know exactly where to touch and how fast to thrust his fingers. His hands on your chest haven’t let up either, a constant, gentle pinching and rubbing and--

“If you want to cum, you have to beg for it,” Zenyatta’s voice is too soft, too gentle to be speaking like this while he’s knuckle-deep inside your heat, pulling wet, filthy sounds from between your shivering thighs. “Let me hear that sweet voice crying out for the relief you want so dearly.”

A noise comes out from your lips. It’s a moan, but it’s too garbled to understand.

“What was that?” Zenyatta teases, pausing his motions for barely a moment while he speaks. “You have to be more clear, sweet one. Do you not yearn to orgasm around my hand?”

Subtle and crude, innocent and filthy, it’s a surreal combination of things that surround Zenyatta’s voice and words that seem to spark the flame in your belly even hotter--you wonder how he knows to do this, how he knows to press his fingers just right, to hit that perfect spot inside you and--

“I want to cum!” You finally shout, your hands gripping tight to his clothed thighs. “Wannacumwannacumplease!” It’s a flurry of words that are all too close together for anyone but your lover to understand.

And then he shifts, just a little, pressing his fingers fully inside you again and repeating that hard pace again. He whispers in your ear at last, little sweet nothings and dirty promises that you are barely able to understand when the heat and tension in your belly finally snaps.

Pleasure pours over your body and saturates your bones when you cum. Your body milking Zenyatta’s fingers for all that it can as he works you through the waves of pleasure rolling through your muscles. None of his hands, real or golden, stop touching your soft skin as you crest over and fall with the waves of euphoria. Even when you’re finally fallen from the pleasure and merely basking in the soft, warm afterglow, the monk is still delicately touching you.

“So good,” he praises sweetly, pulling his fingers out and gently massaging your thigh. “You sound so beautiful, my dear. Are you feeling better?”

He holds you in his arms, only two now, like you’re fragile and precious. The gesture isn’t lost on you, simply enjoying the warmth of both physical and emotional comfort. You shift to sit more comfortably in the other’s lap, feeling his arms wrap a little tighter around your body.

“A little….little better,” You say when your lungs finally seem to have enough air to speak. “That was….jesus…” You turn, nuzzling your face against his own in a moment of silent thanks for his help. “...don’t think you should uh, maybe give me another lesson about this later sometime? Maybe in one of our quarters?”

Zenyatta hesitates, and laughs heartily after a moment, the noise sending a beautiful shiver down your spine.

“Of course,” his fingertips trace idly against the inside of your thighs, still spread apart in lazy shame. “Another lesson in relaxation is surely in order for you, my dear.”


	29. On Your Knees (Male!Reader/Soldier 76)

It’s a Tuesday afternoon when you get a message on your comlink, a gentle little ping of noise that offsets your attention from what you were otherwise doing. There was a mission just yesterday and you’re still decompressing, given a few days of rest even though it wasn’t all that challenging of a task for you or your teamates. Regardless, your reading of the message comes with all but a groan of annoyance--who wants to bother you right now, of all times?

A glance at the message and it’s sender is all you need to feel your stomach flip.

_Come to my quarters right now. Make sure you’re not wearing a shirt you want to keep. - S76_

The message has your heart hammering even before you’re out the door, half-eager and half-confused for what the man might want of you. Hell, you can certainly take a few guesses at what he might want, almost hearing the deep growl of his voice over the silent words of the message. The real question is how he wanted you, and you lingered over it with as much excitement as a child might look forward to Christmas.

His room wasn’t too far from your own, honestly, so what little time it takes for you to reach it is filled only with rapid, eager thoughts, your body almost trembling by the time you reach his door. You can feel a bit of pressure in your pants already when soft knuckles rap against the metal entrance.

It opens after barely a moment, with a very half-naked, ruffled-looking Jack Morrison on the other side.

“Get inside,” He commands, voice low, soft, but still with an edge of authority that you’d be stupid to ignore. You step inside without a wasted moment, feeling his eyes run over your body with an air of hungry perversion that makes you shiver. “I though I said not to wear a shirt you didn’t want ruined.” 

“This is an older shirt,” You argue softly, careful not to raise your voice too loud in comparison to the level his own is at. You’re unsure if the game has already begun, but judging by the look of heat in Jack’s eyes, it probably has the moment he sent you the message. 

Jack gives you a look, up and down, then grunts. You can see the way his naked chest moves with the sound, coming deep within so that it practically rumbles through the air. He’s wearing a pair of loose sweatpants, and they do absolutely nothing to hide the erection already pressing against the soft fabric. Outside of those and that mask on his face, he’s naked, as if waiting for you with the least amount of clothing possible.

“You chose one that’s skin-tight on purpose, didn’t you?” The tone that comes from the soldier isn’t so accusatory as it is amused. It sends yet another shiver down your spine, a trickling of soft, teasing apprehension when you feel his eyes boring into you.

“I might have,” You answer cheekily, not bothering to glance back at the man still standing near the front of his room, simply standing in front of the foot of his bed. He never specified what he wanted you to do and you’re better off not trying to guess. 

Jack huffs. 

“Get on your knees.”

The command is without falter nor hesitation, just his deep, authoritative voice sounding like perfection as it moves through the air. You fall to your knees barely a moment later, flinching when your knees hit the ground just a touch too hard. Before you can make much of a painful noise Jack is already there with a hand pushing into your hair to get a firm grip. It keeps you from standing back up, as if you’re really going to.

“You’re a cheeky little punk today, aren’tcha?” The man said lowly. “Did you forget who I am?”

Your lips part with a soft, almost unconscious moan when his clothed dick is suddenly just in front of your face, a wet spot already forming where the head pressed needily against the fabric. It’s...right there, so close, but he keeps the grip on your hair hard and unwavering when you try to lean forward and nuzzle the shape. 

You whine as the grip gets a little tighter.

“Please sir,” your voice warbles a little bit as the heat and need only increase, knowing how much he was already worked up. What had he been thinking about before texting you? Did he touch himself? The thoughts only made your belly flip and cock harden in your pants. 

“Answer my question,” Jack pulled gently on your hair, just enough so that you had to straighten your body to relieve the surface-level pain over your scalp. “Who am I to you?”

“My sir,” the answer came as smooth as water, dripping from your lips. “--My commanding officer.” 

After a moment, the grip finally lessened, but the fingers didn’t leave your hair. Jack let out another huff, this time in amusement, using his other hand to pull at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Damn fuckin’ right, kid. So when your commander tells you to put that mouth of yours to good use, you better do it.” His voice is liquid sex, leaving you with eager eyes watching as he pulls the fabric down to release his hard, throbbing cock and hooking it under his balls. After a moment of letting you gaze at that beautiful, ruddy-flushed dick, Jack forces your head back a slight. “Open up that pretty little mouth of yours, soldier.”

You hesitate for almost a full second, lost in the sound of Jack’s deep, commanding voice. When your lips finally part and your jaw drops, his cock is pressed closer, the head painting precum over your eager, soft lips. Your tongue darts out to kitten-lick at the head, half-teasing and half-tasting, wanting something of the man’s length since he isn’t letting you press your face forward.

You know exactly what those sharp baby blue eyes are waiting for, beneath that blank, impassive mask that makes your cock leak and throb when your eyes lock on it.

“Commander,” You whimper, trying not to fight his grip to see how much of that beautiful dick you can push down your throat. “Please. Please let me...” the sentence isn’t even finished when you feel the head push past your lips, sitting heavy on your tongue.

“Wonder what your teammates would think about you being such a cockslut for your commander,” Jack muses in a husky, heavy tone, words going straight to your cock to make it throb all the harder against the confines of too-thick pants. The man above you chuckles before pressing his cock deeper down your throat, still not giving you the ability to move your head. Your hands find their spot against his legs, fingertips gently pressed against the outside of either one.

His dick presses deeper, nearing the point where it gets a little hard to breath. He stops pressing just shy of that point, where you’re still able to breath through your nose and your throat isn’t trying to force him out. There’s just a few inches more though, just a little bit more of his cock to take.

Jack waits a moment before pulling back--

And then he shoves himself in again, his grip remaining like a solid vice in your hair. It’s only now that you realize he’s not going to let go at all, using your mouth as little more than a toy for his pleasure and god, if that’s not hot all on it’s own. You can’t even sob as he sheaths himself between your lips, as your own erection is nearing levels of pain with how much pressure is building in your belly. 

But it’s so good, so damn good. You can almost feel tears start to prickle in the corners of your half-closed eyes, staring up at that hard, emotionless mask. The fact that you can’t see his eyes, his face, only makes it better, giving him an even greater sense of power over you that he otherwise already held.

“Such a beautiful little cockslut,” The man growls, admiring your face, the way your soft lips wrap around him. “But you can take more than that can you? Want to see you take all of me, so I can paint the inside of that hungry throat of yours white.”

He starts to press deeper with every thrust, slowly working towards the edge of your comfort zone, the zone where your throat starts to clench around him, when your body feels an instinctual need to force him back. It’s hard not to think about your gag reflex, throat almost seizing up every time his thick, hot dick presses deeper down your throat. Hard to think. Hard to focus.

He’s almost to the base when it’s just a little too much, a little too fast. Your hands grip at his thighs for a moment before your reaction kicks in, one hand dragging two fingers in a solid line down his leg, from hip to the side of his knee.

The motion makes him stop. He doesn’t pull out, but doesn’t continue thrusting either. Instead, he keeps his cock sheathed down your throat, finally so deep that your nose is pressing into sparse, groomed grey hairs. 

He’s panting, grip loose, gaze hard. The two of you remain like that for a minute or two, letting your throat gently familiarize itself with his shape, his throbbing heat. It isn’t until you adjust your hips, knees spreading a little wider to stave off some of the ache in your muscles, that you finally make a motion again: two fingers dragging up, from the side of his knee to his hip before grabbing back onto the fabric as solidly as before.

Jack lets out a pleased growl before he starts thrusting again, slower, but just as needy. It’s really considerate of him, honestly, but it also makes your cock start throbbing again, a heat building up at the base of your belly that can’t be worked off no matter how much you try to wiggle your hips or press down into the floor.

After a few moments, Jack seems to take notice of your issues, the flush of your face that comes from more than simply sucking him off.

“You gettin’ off from this?” He asks, knowing plenty well that you can’t answer him. Though the mask is expressionless, you almost want to think there’s a smirk under there, a look of perverted pride at your aching need. “You really are a depraved little thing aren’t you? Maybe you’re better off as stress relief for the team than as a soldier. Bet you’d lift your ass for anyone who’d give you a good fuck, wouldn’t you?”

You obviously don’t say anything, but the moan vibrating over his dick is probably answer enough that he’s looking for. You can feel Jack’s orgasm nearing, his dick twitching against your tongue as it tries to trace against him every time he thrusts inside.

Jack grunts, and you can feel his grip tightening even more. 

“ ‘m gonna cum,” His words have taken on a note of deep depravity, so low that they’re almost incoherent. “You’re gonna swallow it all down unless you want your ass written up for insubordination. You understand?” 

All you can do is moan again, letting the noise vibrate over the hot, throbbing length. God, he’s so rough, so overpowering, his presence like a thick smoke that smothers your senses and yet you still want more of him.

It only takes a few more second before Jack’s hand pulls you forward, roughly slamming his dick down your throat so that your nose is pressed once more to the soft gray hair at the base of his dick. You don’t really have a moment to react though before he’s cumming, both hands holding your head still as he spills a hot load of bitter jizz that you’re only barely able to swallow down without choking, letting your throat gently milk every drop that he’s able to give you. 

Only when he’s done does Jack finally pull himself out. He chuckles a moment, rubbing the tip of his softening dick over your lips again, smearing a few stray droplets of white that you can barely lick away when his grip loosens and finally disappears.

You’re still hard.

“Sir,” The sound comes out weak and warbling, so raw from the rough fucking of your throat. “Please I--I need--”

The plea isn’t even finished by the time he chuckles, sits on the foot of the bed, and slides one his legs out a little bit. 

You sit there in confusion, staring up at that unmoving mask in confusion. You’re not sure just yet if you’re allowed to stand up or even touch yourself--the possible punishment that could come from breaking a yet-unspoken rule isn’t something your throbbing dick wants to deal with at the moment, because you know how much Jack loves to keep you on edge.

Despite your layers of worry and fear for what else he has in store to keep your orgasm at bay, you’re warmed by the rumble from his chest.

“You want to get off? You better do it yourself then,” The shit-eating grin was more than obvious on Jack’s face as he crossed his arms.  “I’m not gonna help a lil’ punk like you. Better find something to help with your little issue unless you wanna walk out of here with a hard dick.”

Somehow, the way he spoke, the way his voice still clung so heavily over every word arouses you. It makes you even harder if that’s possible, aching for a relief that you want so damn bad. You start to move your hands instead, just barely undoing the zipper of your pants before Jack stops you.

“Not with your hands,” he commands lowly. “You’re only allowed to rub yourself off on something like any other needy slut.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Half of you is pissed that he has to make something so simple feel so complicated, but the other half is intensely turned-on, heart racing as you feel his hungry gaze watching, waiting to see what you’d do

It takes barely a moment to realize that his leg is right there, pressed out, and the fabric of his sweatpants looks like it would have a delicious friction against your needy, dribbling cock.

A moment barely passes before you’re crawling, pressing yourself so his shin is solidly between your legs and your cock is pressed up tight between your belly and that soft fabric. 

“Good boy,” The man growls, watching as you start to grind against his leg, hips somewhere between thrusting and rubbing so that there’s just the right amount of pressure against you. “You wanna get off so damn bad that you’re happy to fuck my leg like a dog.”

The pressure alone is good, the friction is great, but there’s just something about feeling Jack’s gaze on you that finally pushes you over the brink.

Pleasure and euphoria crashes over your body like a solid, hot wave, leaving you shaking as your cock throbs once, twice, and then is suddenly spilling over your belly and his leg. It’s white-hot and lovely, a feeling of warmth that seeps into your bones more and more with every second, every glorious second until its all you can do to lean up against Jack’s leg.

After a few minutes, the feeling of heavy authority starts to clear up, thinning out as Jack’s hands finds your shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gently pulling you up until you’re standing on wobbly feet in front of him. “C’mon now, lets get these off of you.”

Your eyes are closed as he gently presses your pants over your hips, even letting you hold onto his shoulders for balance as he coaxes you to step out of them. The shirt comes next, pulled over your shoulders and discarded somewhere on the other side of the room. Jack does the same for his sweatpants and finally, you hear the gentle click as he pulls off the mask, setting it down somewhere while you take the time to crawl onto his bed. 

After a few minutes, Jack’s at the side of the bed, a water bottle in one hand and a pill in the other, between his fingers.

He doesn’t need to say anything as you sit up, taking the bottle after Jack removes the cap for you. He watches as you take a sip, letting the cool liquid sooth the ache already forming in your throat.

“Drink slowly,” He murmurs, finally handing you the pill. “This will help some, for your throat.” You take it without question, gulping it down with another sip of the water. Only after you finished half the bottle did the man beside the bed finally take it from you, gently setting it on the bedside table and slotting his body up beside your own.

“....You okay?” The old soldier asks, voice unfiltered and pure. Without the mask, it’s easier to see the gentle smile on his face, the concern hanging behind those baby-blues. “I hope I wasn’t too rough this time.” 

“Probably gonna hurt more tomorrow,” You murmur, though there’s no hint of annoyance or anger, but warmth as you look into Jack’s eyes and shuffle your body closer. “But I’m good now. That was fucking hot.”

Jack chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally to your lips. They feel swollen and a little puffy, but you almost like it, in a way, still feeling the shape of the man’s dick in your throat in some faint, pleasant reminder of how damn well he can pull rank on you, even if it is only a little metaphorical.

After a few minutes, Jack pulls a blanket over the two of you, making sure that you’re comfortable before he presses gentle kisses over your face, his hands up and massaging gentle, little circles over your throat, soothing an ache that’s only starting to prickle up in your thoughts. It’s a careful, soft gesture, leaving you feeling lazy and warm.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon that you’re wrapped up in Jack Morrison’s arms, warm and content under his protection and love.


	30. Into the Dragon's Nest (Fem!Omega!Reader/Dragon!Alpha!Hanzo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it's labeled as fem!Reader, there's very few explicit mentions of anatomy and could almost be read as gender neutral c:
> 
> [Here is what I picture him looking like later in the chapter!](http://darthsuki.tumblr.com/post/147911847175/oddthesungod-dragonhanzo-au)

You don’t realize that something is off until Hanzo doesn’t meet you at the archery range. You’re disappointed of course, since he had finally broken down and promised to teach you how to use a bow after weeks of carefully calculated nagging, but concern is quick to tag behind. It’s not like Hanzo to miss appointments, especially when he promised you so honestly that he’d take the time out of his schedule to help you learn. 

You wait for a time at the range, from morning until nearly lunch, when McCree shows up and asks how your day is going. You spend the afternoon with him in the end, talking about one of the missions he recently came back from that he is more than happy to embellish with his own heroism. You don’t mind though--it’s rather endearing of him.

Worry is willing to become mere curiosity after the missed appointment (for lack of any other word), but that’s only until you begin to notice that you're seeing a lot less of Hanzo around the base entirely. He's not in the gym, the rec room or even the mess hall. For all intents and purposes, if it wasn't for the fact that you've seen flickers of him on occasion, in the corner of your eye in passing, you'd almost think him dead.

He is avoiding you. There's simply no better way to describe his behavior, going out of his way to stay away. After a few days of this you aren't sure what's worse: Hanzo feeling ill and keeping to himself for the week, or him outright ignoring you. Regardless, it leaves a sting in your heart, knowing how close the two of you had managed to grow since meeting him several months back--in some perspectives, some might call the two of you dating, even though he and you never touched on the topic yourselves. It was...stressful, to say the least, and after the third day someone seemed to take notice of your growing distress.

“Mind tellin’ me what's got you all eaten up, darlin’?” It is Mccree’s voice that cuts through your thoughts, pulling your empty attention away from the tv. It had been going on about some local news for the town over, but you had been too worried to see nothing but colorful shapes and hear white noise in your ears. Nevertheless, the cowboy has your attention now, leaning on the doorframe of the rec room with his arms crossed over his chest. A visage of concern, warm eyes staring from across the room as he waits for your response.

“I…” You hesitate to speak. Is your worry enough to even bring up? Though you fumble around for a few seconds, on the edge of being honest or not, it’s the cowboy’s firm and unwavering gaze that drags out the truth. “...I think Hanzo’s been avoiding me. I...don’t know if I did something wrong.”

Instead of getting a verbal response, you feel McCree’s weight fall onto the couch beside you just a few seconds later, a sigh escaping his lips as he sinks into the old cushions. He’s a gentle, lazy Alpha whose scent comforts you more than anything else, so it’s nice to feel his presence when your mind is otherwise going crazy.

“I’m not going into heat,” You say after a moment, idly checking off a box that could be contributing to the issue. 

“It’s not like Han’s been bothered by it before,” McCree says with a shrug, then crossing his arms lazily over his chest again. “You sure he’s not jus’ goin’ into a rut or something? I know some Alphas get real’ bristly.”

“I would have smelled it,” You argue. “And it’s been like, four days. I mean--I guess I would have expected him to warn me?” 

McCree lets out a hum.

“You two  **are** pretty damn close.”

The conversation is left at that for a few minutes, silence permeating the air between both of you while you idly watch the television. It’s nice that McCree doesn’t try to push the topic, a subtle comfort that he might not even realize. It gives you just a little bit of time to ponder on his words, on the possibilities for why the man you would consider a good friend would suddenly avoid you outright for half a week. Hell, maybe he  **is** going through a rut for all you know, keeping to himself so he doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

The topic of being more than mates never ended less than awkward and unsure between Hanzo and you, so it was never something that you spoke about at length. In fact, Hanzo’s always tried to avoid the topic, mumbling something or another that you could never catch but always holding a blush over his cheeks. Does that have something to do with things now? The thought only plagues your mind further, saturating it with worry.

“You know,” McCree starts again, briefly glancing caramel eyes over in your direction. “You can jus’ go find him and talk about it. You know he don’t like talkin’ much about heavy shit.”

“You don’t think he’d...get angry or something?” 

You shift uneasily on the couch, but feel the man’s hand press gently over your shoulder.

“ ‘Course not, darlin,” The warmth of McCree’s voice, his scent, is plenty enough to stave off most of the worry gnawing on your bones. “If I know Hanzo, he’s prolly jus’ bein’ bristly. Bet he’s finishin’ a rut and doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” You can feel a thumb brush over the curve of your shoulder. “Hell, maybe you’ll be able to get him talkin’ about going on a date or somethin’.”

You turn your face to the side just in time to catch the Alpha’s gaze and smile-stricken, dumb look. It’s that cheesy, stupid grin he’d wear right after telling a bad pun, and it never fails to make you laugh. But it does give you that spark of needed confidence to push yourself off the couch, onto your feet and with a fervent goal in mind for how to combat your anxiety head-on.

“Thanks, McCree,” You murmur after a moment, catching his still-smiling face as you turn to step out of the rec room. 

“Anytime, darlin’,” his warm voice follows you out of the room. “Don’t want my omegafriend getting all stressed over nothin’.”

* * *

 

The walk to Hanzo’s quarters don’t take all that long; his room is just past your own after all, two turns down the hallway and at the very end, left side. It was the only available room when he finally joined the team, and he later explained that he enjoyed the solitude. When he first joined, he honestly had been a loner, off on his own, taking in the team with a firm gaze and resting, almost scowling expression. He was a new Alpha after all, that hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone that he’d keep a distance.

It’s almost peculiar how his behavior now aligns with how he acted then, just a few months ago. Perhaps it’s related?

Regardless, you find yourself walking down the last hallway, all the way to the end where his door sits, unopened and locked (you’d be surprised if it wasn’t). After gathering your thoughts and taking in a breath, you finally tap your knuckles against the metal. The sound gently echoes through the air, a pregnant silence following afterwards.

“....Hanzo?” Your voice rings out gently, almost too gently. After another series of knocks against the door, you finally hear Hanzo’s voice respond from within.

“Go away.” It’s low, rumbling, but it has no venom. If anything he sounds tired and worn down, the edges of his words so low that its almost hard to hear him through the door. But you at least have an answer, an indication that he’s not actually dead or dying. A sigh escapes your lips in semi-relief before curiosity-laced worry follows up behind.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

No answer, even after waiting a couple seconds. Your brows furrow and you try again, voice a tinge louder, words just a little more firm.

“You promised that you’d teach me how to use a bow a few days ago--you never showed up.”

You’re about to open up your mouth again, thinking that he’s ignoring you, when the door suddenly opens. Hanzo stands in front of you, his eyes sharp, and brighter than you ever have noticed of them. 

Have they always been that...golden? 

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, taking the time to gather thoughts and figure out what to say. You’re just lost in his eyes, taken back when a sudden, half-familiar scent hits your nose. He’s...rutting? He smells warm and earthy, but where there might normally be a tell-tale, almost signature sort of spice to indicate his flaring pheromones, there’s something else completely. 

You can’t honestly put a specific term to it, but it feels...powerful. Strong. Instinctively, your mind wants to take a step back, tilt your head up to the Alpha you’ve grown so close to just so he can see you bare your throat for him in a motion of trust and submission--you don’t come as a threat.

You must unconsciously make the motion, a gentle jut out of your chin, because you see Hanzo’s eyes widen for barely a moment, his scent flickering warmer, his aura almost changing to--

And then he’s muted again, focused repression forcing him back to the unmoved, calm Alpha you’ve come to know.

“....I’ve been...busy,” Is all he offers at first, reminding you after a moment that you’d asked him a question. Soft eyes watch him for a moment, your head tilting to the side as the puzzle pieces start to fall together. 

“If you were going into a rut and...didn’t want to make things weird I guess, you could have told me.” If that’s all the issue was, forewarning (or any communication at all) would have fixed almost everything simmering in your mind. “It’s not like I’d hate you or anything if you needed a few days to yourself.”

You don’t bring up the scent, no matter how much it keeps nagging at your thoughts. Yes, it’s a telltale scent of an Alpha who’s rutting (you’ve gotten used to it happening to some of the other teammates), but it’s almost unnervingly different, enough that it makes your instincts feel a little on-edge, a little raw, a little like you just want to walk the three steps forward and press your face against his chest, let him envelope you in his arms. It’s beyond what you normally feel for him, the expected, almost cliche reaction that an Omega would have for an Alpha they have a crush on. 

“....Are you listening?” Hanzo suddenly asks in a taut, commanding tone. It drags you out of your thoughts, making you realize that he actually had been talking the last couple seconds, but you failed to hear it past the loud whirring of your thoughts.

Evidently, the look of surprise or fear is enough of an answer. Hanzo sighs, then rubs a hand over his face, mixing the not-exactly-rutting scent even more into the air. It almost seems to flood out from his room, as if he’d been in there the entire last few days. A careful sniff brings a flood of information to your brain, instinctual messages that your body can understand on a base level, even if your conscious mind doesn’t manage to piece it together itself.

You take a step forward.

“What’s actually going on with you?” The voice that comes out of your mouth is small, almost submissive, but it commands an answer. The closer proximity to Hanzo brings about a stronger scent coming from him, more information filling up the back of your head. He smells strong and possessive, like a sweet cocktail of things that your body wants more of. It almost seems to call to you, but it’s not the rut you’re answering, but something else hidden behind it, a curtain separating you from something he seems trying to hide.

His eyes widen in a look of momentary surprise before taking a sharp step back and away from you.

“Wh-What are you doing?” He demands after a moment, failing to keep his composure just long enough to realize how much effort he’s putting into it. Another step forward puts you past the threshold into his room, and bombards you with a flurry of scents that are--

Jesus christ.

“This isn’t just a rut,” You whisper, taking in a breath, letting it fill up your lungs. Its foreign enough that your body isn’t sure how to respond, Omega instincts a little haywire. Yes, you know instinctively that he’s an Alpha, but there’s something else about him that continues to push your senses off-kilter, ever so slightly. “This is  **not** just a rut, Hanzo. What is going on?”

You feel heat trickling in the pit of your belly at the sensation of safety surrounds you--something about the smell rings a sense of dominance and power unlike the other Alphas of the base, an entirely new brand of primality that almost, if anything, seems welcoming of you.

The feeling of physical need starts to tick against your nerves. Hanzo, for lack of anything else, takes in a breath and tries to give a composed response.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he mumbles, and you start to notice that he’s stepping, shifting his weight back and forth--

Not letting you see something behind him.

It was hard to notice anything at all just before, his room darkened and your focus on his eyes than anything else. But there’s definitely something behind the man, something that only steals more of your attention when you discover Hanzo’s increasing attempt to hide it.

“What’s behind you?” You ask without filter, now purposefully leaning one way or the other, causing Hanzo’s scent to spike with fear.

“Absolutely nothing,” He says in a rush, stepping towards you, his hands in a motion to shoo you out of the room. “None of your concern. I’ll be alright in just a few more days. I’ll teach you then, I promise--”

“Hanzo.” You stand firm, letting him walk up to you, his body barely a foot from your own. Even under his gaze, firm and powerful, you don’t waver--the worry for him is finally just too much. “I care about you. Let me know what’s wrong, please.”

Silence.

Hanzo slowly turns his eyes, averting them to some empty spot in the room. When he turns his face, you see a gentle glimmer over his skin, just barely past the curve of his jaw. It takes a few moments to realize that it’s not glitter on his skin, but tiny, shimmering, blue scales.

Jesus.

Shock stills both thoughts and words for a few moments, and Hanzo slowly turns his face again, staring down at you with bright, golden eyes that are most definitely a shade of yellow that’s almost inhuman. When he opens his mouth to speak, you see fangs, definite fangs in place of where semi-sharp canines should be. When he flicks his tongue out, its thinner and forked. 

He has a forked tongue.

Holy fuck.

“...The bloodline in the Shimada clan is more than strong Alphas and the powers of the ancient dragons.”

He pauses, takes in a breath, and slowly lets it out. You feel something tickling up your leg, something like a snake, curling around your ankle. The focus doesn’t shift away from Hanzo’s face and voice, as you’re too frozen to move.

“There is a reason,” he says at last in a slow, careful tone. Try as he might to hide it, there’s restraint in every vowel. “-that only the Shimadas can control the dragons that we are bonded with as infants. Only the heirs to the clan can understand, earn their respect. A very specific, well-hidden reason that no outsider of Hanamura learned.”

The feeling moves higher up your leg, over your hip, before you feel a feather-light tickle just underneath your jaw. 

You feel it more than you see it, honestly, slowly raising a hand up to press your palm against the slender, muscular, scale-covered tail barely pressing against you. The tip is covered with soft, silky fur.

“You’re a….” you can hardly finish the sentence, but Hanzo, ever the observant one, nods his head.

“Hybrid, actually,” He pulls his tail away from you after a moment, letting your hand gently smooth over its soft, powerful form as it settles behind him again. “It is why Shimada heirs are always Alphas by nature.”

“So you’re….not...going through a rut?” You whisper, unable to take your eyes away from the face of the man you’ve already fallen for, secretly, with scales gently glimmering over the curve of his jaw, his eyes sharp and almost glowing, his smirk almost predatory as he speaks again.

“Yes and no. I have ruts, but….instead of cycles, there must be a….trigger.”

The conversation is moving in a direction that you can already foresee the goal, but the question still seems appropriate to ask, as if confirmation is needed so you don’t make yourself look like an ass.

“And that trigger this time is…?”

Hanzo breathes out slowly, a sigh so deep that it rumbles through the air, makes your body almost shiver under its powerful sound.

“It’s you.”

By the time your brain is able to work the words through, Hanzo is suddenly pressing forward, forcing you to move until your back hits the closed door. The metal is cold against your body, but Hanzo is almost burning up, even through the layers of clothes between you.

And all your mind can do is echo a faint, yet powerful sound of  _ ‘yesssss’ _ when his hands are pressing to your hips, his mouth to your throat. Lips press gentle kisses up, then down, before finally parting just enough and--

Oh god yes, those were definitely fangs you saw. They press into your flesh just enough to feel, to feel the man’s power and heavy, thick scent of power. Now it makes sense, the oddity in his scent, his avoidance--it all makes sense and it’s all okay because god damn,

“I want you,” You say, hands weakly grabbing for anything of Hanzo that you can. “Please. Hanzo. I really want you.”

It must be the right answer that he yearned to hear, because the archer is moving even harder against you, grinding his body forward so you can feel the aching press of his erection against your hip. He nips harder at your skin, not yet leaving a mark but reminding you that he’s right there, playing with one of the most intimate, scent-laden patches of skin.

“Make sure you mean it,” The man growls into your skin. His hands grip tighter over your hips, pressing hard enough that you can detect claws sinking just hard enough that it almost stings despite the layers of cloth. “If you yearn for me, omega, you must mean it. I will not take kindly to the thought of sharing you with anyone.”

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to filter through the dragon’s words, and a few seconds more to come up with a response.

“Alpha,” It’s a whimper, a call, a plea for him to take what he wants. “My Alpha.” It’s a submission of power. You tilt your head back against the door to emphasize the statement in an unspoken permission, and Hanzo doesn’t hesitate for a moment to take it, surging forward like a hungry animal as he bites down at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

Pain laces through your body for but a moment before your instincts kick in, releasing hormones from the pressure over that intimate, little patch of skin. It’s not a bonding mark yet, but it still feels just as good, the beginning of a claim that you don’t want to stop.

Hanzo’s hands start to pull at your clothes, yanking at them more with the fervency to destroy them rather than take them off.

You don’t get much of a choice in the matter to argue, because by the time your mind is coherent enough in thought to ask to slow down and unbutton your pants or pull off your shirt, the man’s claws are digging into the fabric and ripping them off your body.

_ Rrrrrrrrrriip! _

“H-Hanzo!” the yelp practically jumps out of your mouth as he lets the shredded clothes fall to the floor, panties barely hanging on when the tip of a claw managed to clip over the hem in his attempt to get your pants off. “I just--Oh jesus--”

“ **You’re mine.** ”

Hanzo’s voice has finally lost all ounces of restraint, leaving him sounding raw and low, possessive in the most audible way possible and it’s almost liquid sex to your ears. It make the flame burn hotter still at the core of your belly.

“You’ve taunted me for so long,” he almost snarls, sounding more angry at himself than at all at you as he pulls away, glancing down at the mess of clothes on the ground at your feet, panties barely covering what’s left of your dignity. His lips twitch in a half-sneer, and he pulls them just hard enough that the last couple threads break. The flimsy fabric falls to the ground, leaving your core bare both to the cool air of his room, and the hunger in the man’s--dragon’s--glowing yellow eyes. “You always smell so sweet, so delicious. I’ve wanted to taste you for almost as long as I’ve known you…”

He takes in a slow breath, and you’re sure that he’s taking the moment to enjoy your scent, now laden with arousal. 

“This dragon hungers for you, my omega.” 

Just when you think he’s about to surge forward again and rip off your shirt and bra just as he did everything else, Hanzo takes a slow, measured step backwards. You blink warily, eyes wide, scent momentarily frightened. But he comforts you with a slow, gentle command instead, keeping your mind anchored and assured.

“I am going to undress myself,” he begins softly, slowly taking a step to the side and finally letting you see what has been behind him the whole time.

It’s a nest. Sure, it’s a little different from what you’re used to seeing as an Omega, but it’s a nest nevertheless, made of spare clothing, pillows, blankets, and various soft bits that he had probably gathered around the base. It’s larger than what an Omega might make, almost lavish. Hanzo gestures towards it.

“When I finish undressing myself, I want you in the nest. Naked. Waiting for me.”

A moment passes, and then you nod your head. Hanzo smirks again, somewhere between a smile of genuine warmth and amused mischief, but it excites you regardless. When he finally turns his body and begins peeling the clothes off of himself, you step past him and towards the nest.

By the time you fall into the pile of warm, soft clothes and blankets that smell so perfectly of Hanzo, your shirt is already off. Fingertips are deftly working off the bra, and soon that too is added to the pile around you, leaving you naked, perfectly cradled by the nest and surrounded utterly by Hanzo’s powerful, Alpha smell.

If you hadn’t just gone through a heat barely a month ago, you are certain it would have been triggered by this alone.

You close your eyes and idly snuggle into the warmth that surrounds you, feeling almost drunk on the sensation of safety and protection---the feeling of Hanzo.

It isn’t long before you feel someone hovering over you though, and it’s only then that your eyes open.

Hanzo is absolutely beautiful.

His body is formed from years of physical work, a sculpting of skill and livelihood leaving him naturally fit. His skin looks as soft as silk, but there’s something about him that makes you feel humbled and awed even more. Many somethings, in fact.

Patches of glittering blue scales decorate his body, various parts of his skin otherwise smooth and glistening. Over the curves of his hips, his shoulders, arms and legs--your even sure that more are hidden over his back, trailing down to the length of the obvious, reptilian tail that gently swishes about behind him. 

His eyes glow with interest and hunger, his hands look more like claws, and a subtle pair of short, pointed horns adorn his forehead, breaking through the otherwise messy shroud of grey-streaked black hair he’s pulled from it’s normal ponytail.

Beautiful is only one word you would use for him, standing stark-naked over you, a predator moments away from devouring it’s prey.

It doesn’t take long at all to notice his cock, standing hard and flushed, almost straight against his belly. It’s dripping precum down the throbbing length, and the sight alone is enough to make your body shiver and lips part with a soft whimper.

You don’t realize that you’re instinctively spreading your legs open for him until he chuckles, falling down to his knees in one smooth, graceful motion.

“You look like an angel,” he murmurs, slowly crawling closer, over your body. You can feel most of his weight above you, pressing down just enough so you know he’s there, powerful enough to keep you there and loving enough to protect you. “Settled in my nest, ready to take whenever I have to give you. Do you ache for me, omega?”

Your moan is enough of an answer, because you can barely fathom words when his cock gently slides over your throbbing, sopping cunt, practically grinding over your clit.

“So wet already….” He sounds almost awed, taking in your beauty for a moment before your legs instinctively lock around his waist. “....So eager. You aren’t even in heat, yet you smell absolutely perfect. I’ve wanted to sate myself on more than my hand for weeks, wanted your heat around me so much…”

It’s hard to tell if Hanzo is speaking with more awe or seductive charm, but he sounds smooth regardless, nuzzling his face into the warmth of your throat.

“Oh Hanzo…” your lips whisper, a feeling of odd, unsure panic increasing. “I’ve wanted you too. Wanted you so damn much my last heat.” It makes your breath start to quicken, but Hanzo is quick to soothe.

“Shhhh,” he shushes, gently shifting his body, his hips, so that the tip of his cock kisses against your entrance. “I’m right here, omega. You will never endure another heat by yourself. You are mine now, all mine.”

He kisses you as he thrusts inside, sheathing his cock balls-deep in one solid, powerful motion of his hips. You can feel the way he tenses up for a moment at the pleasure of it, your beautiful, hot grip around him. He lets out a snarl, an inhuman sound from deep within his chest, and kisses you deeper still.

You can feel his fangs against your tongue as he starts a pace, a primal, hard thrusting that feels as raw and instinctual as your body wants. All the while, he’s whispering into your mouth, against your lips, his own mantra of need and heat that washes over you in a wave of intimacy.

“Nobody will ever have you besides me, my mate--my beautiful mate.”

“You feel so good, so hot, so perfect around my cock. Can you feel me opening you up? Fuck. Fuck.”

“I have you. I need you.”

“I love you.”

You match every whisper, every whine, every pleasurable moan until the two of you are at a blissful pinnacle of pleasure that has both of you writhing. His tail thrashes out behind him, his claws are digging into the nest instead of you, and your mind is absolutely swimming with pleasure.

Hanzo. Hanzo surrounds you, entirely and completely. His scent is powerful, hot, protective. You feel his teeth singing in your neck, his cock throbbing, his hips thrusting so powerfully that you’re pressed into the next and smothered by his body.

He whispers your name, and it sounds so beautiful when it’s in his voice.

“I’m going to spill inside you,” Hanzo says mere moments later, more of an assurance than a warning. “I’m going to mark you, inside. My mate. My beautiful mate.”

You only nod furiously in answer, begging him for it, for the warmth, the messy heat blooming inside your belly as your legs only wrap harder around him.

“Make me yours.”

That’s all the permission that Hanzo needs, driving into you one time more before he tenses up. He lets out what can only be called a roar, pressing his head into the nest just beside your head--you can hear him tearing at the pieces of cloth with his teeth.

And then he spills inside of you, filling up your body with a load that blooms with heat until you feel it trickling out, down the insides of your thighs.

You cum mere moments afterwards, milking your draconic mate for all that you can, waves of pleasure making you clutch harder still at him, his presence, his strength, until the pleasure becomes warmth, and warmth becomes an afterglow.

A minute passes, and the two of you are curled up inside the nest, caring little of the mess between you. Hanzo’s tail is wrapped up around your legs, and his arms are around your body, pressing you against him and surrounding you with his beautiful scent.

Nothing else matters but the sound of his comforting, powerful heartbeat.

  
  



	31. Red and Yellow (Dom!Reader/Sub!Hanzo)

Hanzo, a beautiful form of restrained wonder, is carefully bound and sitting up, practically kneeling on your bed. He’s wrapped in the most pretty red rope, carefully chosen from and even more carefully tied, his arms behind his back, legs tucked beneath him. 

Red rope criss-crosses over every inch of his body–from the way they settle beneath his breasts, pushing them up in a way that almost gives illusion of cleavage, down to where they dip around his inner thighs. His cock is the only thing not bound with rope, but it’s already just as red and flushed. It weeps with precum, clear liquid dripping down its throbbing length. 

"Please,“ The man practically squeaks. Normally so stoic, so firm, it’s a wonder all in it’s own to see Hanzo pulling apart at the seems. "P-please, I’m so close already I–" 

It would seem that the toy inside him is doing plenty well of a job; money well spent. He can barely keep a coherent sentence going, and it’s enough to make you smile. 

"Please what, baby?” You coo, a hand gently reaching out to caress Hanzo’s flushed face. He leans into the touch like a kitten, practically nuzzling into your palm. His hair is unbound, the ribbon wrapped instead around his throat in a makeshift yet beautiful bow. Yellow suits him well, just as much as red does. It contrasts so well against his skin, but compliments the blush that gently brushes over his face, his chest, down to his cock. “I can’t read your mind.”

“お願い!” Hanzo legitimately whines, a lack of shame evident in the noise as it warbles in the back of his throat. You can hear the buzzing between his legs, his hips constantly tilting, shifting the little bit that he’s able to despite the binding of his body. "P-please, I need–gah–I need to cum–need to cum so bad I mustImustcum–“ 

“Oh, baby boy,” You purr, gently scratching your fingertips under his chin. All Hanzo does is tilt his head back a bit, just a little, obviously enjoying the contact even if it’s only slight. You can see how his eyes are blown with lust, but half-lidded in the beautiful, thick haze of subspace. “You’re so pretty for me right now. I know you want to cum so bad but you can hold on for me just a little bit longer? Just a little bit more, you’re such a good boy for me…”

“は-…はい,” Hanzo whimpers, barely able to keep back another keen from his lips when you scratch under his chin again. You know he won’t cum without permission; for as much of a greedy little thing that the archer could be, he was amazingly obedient. He could be on the edge for hours without letting himself cum even once, and yes, you’ve tested that endurance plenty before. 

There’s just something so perfect about the sight of him like this, tied up and at your mercy–something even more perfect when you know that he craves it so badly. The most wonderful times are when he comes to you, rope and toy in hand, wordlessly asking for what he knew only you could give him–that comfort, that love, that warmth.

Oh Hanzo, so adorable when he doesn’t know how to ask, completely dumbfounded for words and looking at you with a vulnerable, soft expression in his eyes.

“I….am I good for y-you?” 

The sound of his voice brings you back to the present again, your eyes instinctively flicking to his hips, how they’re grinding down into the bed, as if trying to get just a little bit more of the vibrating plug inside of him. A smile works on your face as you savor it.

“Of course you are,” You whisper, spotting the soft smile that pull the corner’s of the man’s lips when you brush your thumb over his cheeks. “You’re always so good, my beautiful boy. I love nothing more than seeing you like this, all wrapped up in red and yellow. The prettiest present that I’ve ever gotten.”

You wait a moment, then two, merely letting him press his face into your hand like an eager kitten. You can see the way his cock bobs, his lower lip disappears between his teeth–and then finally, with a smile, you give him the permission he’s looking for, reaching between his legs to give the man just that little extra pleasure he needs to push over the edge.

“Cum for me, Hanzo,” You whisper against his ear. “I want to hear you moaning my name with that cute whine of yours.”

His response is nearly an explosion of noises, his cock spilling over your fingers with each delicious stroke, his cheeks washed with a thick red blush, only momentarily wet when a short line of blissed-out pleasure-tears roll over them. 

The entire time Hanzo cums, he’s whimpering your name. It’s a mantra of passion on his lips, and is the most beautiful sound in the world.


	32. Lordosis Behavior (Omega!Reader/Alpha!Hanzo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is marked as omegaverse, but it's also college au, where Hanzo is primarily the Sex Ed professor, but also teaches archery on the side.

He moves, touches, and speaks with precision. His fingers touch your skin gently, but firmly, seeming to know exactly how to manipulate you into just the right position. He moves you about in the same way he handles the bow and arrows in the other class he teaches--delicate, barely-noticeable movements that would make the difference between hitting the mark and completely missing the wooden target.

The precision of an archer, all wrapped up around the painfully complicated, thorough knowledge of a sexual educations professor. Surely one alone would be your undoing, but both in the same man? Chaos, absolute chaos.

That’s at least what your body was thinking.

His hands keep you still, frozen with invisible ropes around your wrists and ankles made up of his hard glances and strong commands. Despite being on one of the tables, you’re surprisingly comfortable--you always thought that they were cold, at least when the class was looking over the mannequin, learning each bit and piece of whatever section of anatomy you were slated to learn through that week or month. 

He moves his hands over you in the same way he does for the class--with firm, careful precision. 

When he nudges a hand between your naked thighs, they fall apart without any effort, just as a whimper flows past your lips.

Professor Hanzo Shimada glances at you, but thankfully it’s not one of scolding. 

“Tell me,” He starts, and you feel his fingers caress up the inside of your thighs. “What is the name of the first part of the estrus cycle?” 

The question skips over your thoughts, takes a moment to settle. Your nerves are starting to burn as much as your thick, sluggish mind. You’ll be in the prime of your heat in the next few days, but he’s more than willing to take advantage of the days leading up to it. 

If the thick, alpha scent is anything to go by in the room, he’s going just as crazy as you are about the whole thing.

“P-proestrus, sir,” you sputter out after a moment, the word chased after by a thin whine. 

You’re not sure if he’s teaching or indulging in a kink anymore--it doesn’t honestly matter, because all you can think of regardless is his fingers slipping inside and opening you up.

It takes a moment for him to indulge you in that much, as you feel the tips of two digits start pressing between your legs. Though your body isn’t officially in heat, the wetness he finds there is still enough to slick his fingers, start sheathing them inside your body and--oh. Oh god, there’s suddenly an ache, a realization that you’re so very, very empty.

The fingers are gone not a moment later, barely working up to the second knuckle.

Before you can let out a little whimper of frustration, the man taps his clean hand to your hip in a motion that reminds you of a doctor. Gentle, but firm, trying to guide you to move how he wants you to.

“Flip onto your belly,” He commands in a low, powerful voice. A voice of fear, of caution, of downright arousal. It’s the voice that’s captured your attention on plenty of occasions both during and after class. 

You follow the command without hesitation, your body wanting the reward of his touch as much as it wants to please him.

Professor Shimada lets out a pleased hum when you situate yourself on the table, and after a few gentle touches of his hand, you find yourself on your hands and knees, bare to him as he starts to talk around to the other side of the table.

Taking in the sight of you. The thought, the clinical feel of the motion, brings a flush of heat to your face.

“Another question; everyone got this wrong on the last quiz,” The man purrs, pressing a hand between your shoulders. “-including you.”

There’s a thread of shame that filters down your thoughts, but it’s muffled by the sound of Hanzo’s voice as he starts to speak again. You can hear the slight, soft sound of a belt buckle being pulled free.

“What is the biological reflex called when a receptive omega in heat presents themselves to an alpha?”

Silence hangs in the air for a moment. Two. Three. You can feel his eyes on you, can taste the thick heat in the air--you don’t need to turn your eyes, but you can already envision the way his cock is pressing against his pants, tenting the material, perhaps even creating a little mark of wetness from where even he, the calm-faced alpha of the West Wing of the campus, feared by many--

Is getting a little overexcited.

You take in a breath. 

“The...the lordosis behavior sir---mammalian lordosis.”

Despite knowing that it’s the right answer, your heart nearly stops. But then Hanzo’s hand starts to press harder between your shoulder blades, pressing your chest and shoulders down onto the table, leaving your ass up, in the air.

“Good...” The man purrs. You feel more than hear him gently climb onto the table--there is just enough room for him to kneel behind you. “If I had known this method of tutoring would help you, I would have started it sooner.”

You feel the head of his cock press against your entrance, throbbing, hot and thick.

“Maybe if you moan sweetly enough, I’ll even give you extra-credit.”

Instinctively, you press your ass up just a little bit higher, just before the man takes a hard grip of your hips and sheathes himself deep inside your aching heat.

And after that, the rest is bliss.


	33. Alone Time (Fem!Reader/McCree)

It’s been a good two long, horrible weeks. Two weeks that McCree’s been gone, off on some mission or another, nevertheless leaving you to tend to yourself in more ways than one. Despite Gibraltar having plenty of amenities to keep your mind occupied while he’s away, it doesn’t shake the fact that with every cold, lonely night by yourself in bed, you ache for the soft touch of his fingertips over your body.

Eventually, you decide to take matters into your own hands, so to speak. You figure to take the alone time in stride, something to enjoy rather than hate--and of course, that’s how you’re led into purchasing a...rather crude movie or two on your personal datapad. As much as you tried to reason to yourself that they were fine, classy films of a more erotic nature, you eventually come to the acceptance of what they are:

Hardcore porn. It’s absolute filth, all of it really--nothing more than a fantastical, barely-real depiction of a couple people fucking like animals in various positions and places. Regardless, it’s the sort of filth that you’re after, the kind that makes your stomach flip and your body feel that beautiful, deep ache that only a special, careful attention can soothe.

Jesse’s been gone for just over a week when the night comes that you decide to treat yourself, in a way. Its a night that you actually use the television, tossing the files from your personal datapad to the screen and watching them load up. 

By the time you’ve stripped yourself down to nothing and made yourself comfortable on the bed, the files have loaded on the television. It takes no more than a simple tap for the screen to erupt in sudden color and motion, the scene starting as one might expect for a plotless smut flick,

And it’s **exactly** what you need.

* * *

 

It’s no more than ten minutes later that you find yourself panting, legs apart and one hand between them. Your fingers have already dipped inside of your heat, spreading your labia apart to expose your soft, aching cunt to the cool air of the bedroom. With every breath, your arousal only seems to grow hotter.

On screen, the woman has already conversed with one of the male actors that you can’t bother remembering the name of--you only know that he has a nice, thick cock, uncut and perfect. It reminds you of your lover, which only makes you let out a soft, pitiful moan at the thought of having him there with you, beside you, pressing his fingers inside your needy heat and leaving you a blubbering mess. 

“Jesse...” You whimper, finally dipping two fingers inside yourself. The slide is easy, as your body is already aching for something much, much thicker than a mere two fingers to fill you up. Something nice and hot, throbbing just right inside your channel. “Hng...please, c’mon, need more...”

You imagine how he’d laugh, a low gentle chuckle at your moaning, some stupid, overly-lovey quip that would only leave you more annoyed. You press your fingers in just a little deeper, try to spread them apart, but its just not enough.

You hear the woman on screen let out a long, drawn out moan that almost sounds real. It makes the fire in your belly burn a little hotter, and its only then that you remember the toy laying beside you, waiting for use.

It’s certainly nothing too fancy, and not nearly as good as your lover’s own cock, but it has it’s use when you just want something more than your fingers dammit.

After a moment or two more of enjoying the filthy, wet noises that come from thrusting fingers inside your sopping cunt, you pull them out and needily paw at the space beside you with your free hand. It doesn’t take more than a few moments to locate the toy where it sits, just beside you.

It’s nothing more than a silicone dildo, but you give it a lustful glance nevertheless. It’s got the same tone as Jesse’s cock, shaped nicely with all the little details of what you ache for. Flushed tip, veiny shaft, and firm feel against your palm. 

When you feel it’s lovely weight in your hand, you realize that you forgot to get the lube. Though it’s only a few steps away in the bedside table, your mind has already latched onto the need, the ache, that settles itself between your legs. You need something inside you _this instant_  and you are more than happy to get it slicked up another way...

For a moment, you envision Jesse straddling your chest, his knees astride your body as he angles the tip of his dick against your lips.

“ _C’mon, darlin’. Lemme see how that purty mouth of yours looks when y’er sucklin’ on my dick.”_

The mere thought of it, the way his voice rolls over each word, makes you shiver. You pull the toy towards your mouth without much hesitation, slowly opening up for it in some attempt at looking coy and shy to invisible, prying eyes.

It doesn’t take long before you start get most of it wet, slick with saliva. In the time you’d been focused on trying to get it down your throat, your opposite hand has been down between your legs, working over your clit instead of anything else. It’s been throbbing for attention for some time, and the slightest touch, the most teasing of rubbing sends a spark of heat through your stomach, up your spine.

You rub little circles around the bundle of nerves and arch your back up into the touch. The teasing only makes the ache worse, makes your pussy clench around nothing and need something thick to fill you up all the more, something to drive inside you and caress every inch inside.

* * *

 

You’re not sure how long it is later, but you’ve got the toy inside of you. It’s opening you up so fucking good, you thoroughly enjoyed the slow, careful sheathing of each inch until it’s all in, pressed as deep as it can go and it just--

“Jesse!” You whimper, body twitching, writing a little as it soaks up all the pleasure it has to take. “Fuck me, please, please oh please....” 

The television mirrors the sentiment. You’re not sure if it’s on the same movie anymore or if its switched to the next one, but the woman on screen is surrounded by several lovers, all of which who seem to be eager in taking a turn. Some of them silently watch the scent, and others made low, hungry comments about how they’re gonna stuff her full of their cocks until she’s a leaking, creamy mess.

The sounds only spur you further, starting a hard, deep pace with the toy as it plunges inside your cunt with every motion of your hand. You can almost feel the weight of Jesse over you, the way he almost lays on you, lets his body press down to remind you he’s there, you’re his, and--

“Darlin?”

The voice isn’t a bit to your imagination. It’s definitely real, and it comes from one side of the bed.

Your eyes fly open as your face turns to the side, catching the sight of your lover standing there, dropping his mission bag carelessly onto the floor beside the door he must have just walked in from. He looks a little surprised at first, somewhere past the exhaustion that’s left slight, dark marks beneath his eyes.

He glances at you, over your entirely exposed body, and then towards the television. It’s still going, still filling the air with the filthy sounds of sex and shameless begging for another dick. You’ve all but stopped moving, toy still inside you and heart pounding with a sudden anxiety as much as arousal.

And then, after a moment, McCree chuckles and starts to pull his serape off of his shoulders.

“Don’t you be stoppin’ on my account, baby girl,” The cowboy’s eyes begin to darken as he pulls off his glove with his teeth, the other hand gently plucking the hat from his head. He drops both beside him. “There ain’t nothin’ more sexy to come home early and see than you all spread out already. Bet that toy feels real nice, don’t it?”

He chuckles again and starts to hover near the bed, but without any intention of climbing beside you. 

“C’mon now. Show me how you’d get yourself off. Wanna see that pretty pussy cumin’ around that dick before I stuff it full of my own.”


	34. Naughty List (Reader/Reinhardt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by a certain new Reinhardt voiceline B)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqnW5del8k0&feature=youtu.be&t=8m39s)

He could have been a really good Santa Clause, you reckon. Between the bright red gettup, the healthy rumble of his voice, or even the warmth of his smile, Reinhardt could have really made a great Santa Clause that you’d almost expect to see at some local mall, ushering kids to tell him what they wanted most under the Christmas tree.

For better or for worse, Reinhardt is NOT a mall Santa sitting in a lavishly decorated chair pulled out of the nearest department store, but instead sitting on the edge of your bed. He’s been expecting you, definitely, because his charmed expression doesn’t shift when the door opens and you step into the bedroom. If anything, he only seems to look more assured, lips pulling into a gentle smile, hands carefully patting over his slightly-spread knees.

“It’s about time you got here,” Reinhardt all but purrs. You can see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he beckons you closer. 

“You were actually serious,” You say, a half-chuckle escaping your lips after a quick glance up and down his form. “I didn’t actually think you’d do it.”

“You underestimated me, mein maus,” The man says, waggling a gloved finger in the air with his words. His eyes look hooded for a moment as he regards you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see my most beloved? I’ve come all the way down from the North Pole to see you, my dear.” 

You have half a mind to roll your eyes at the absurdness of the game, but with Reinhardt acting so lascivious, you couldn’t help but play along just a little bit.

“Oh Santa,” you say, reaching a hand up to bite one of your knuckles, barely hard enough to feel your teeth against skin. Coy and shy, you step closer to him, pulling your hand from your mouth to gently play with your hair instead. “You came all this way to see me? It’s not even Christmas yet~”

The man chuckles again before reaching out for you, finally close enough to wrap his fingers around your hips and tug you forward, over and onto his lap. You’re sitting astride him, knees pressing into the soft, made bed.

You can feel the gentle, slight bulge in his pants, pressing ever so slightly, so subtly between your open thighs.

Reinhardt lets out a low, gentle hum as you settle yourself down on his lap. Both of you aren’t oblivious to the growing need between you (physical evidence and otherwise), but there’s something quite nice about playing coy. Something gentle, something sweet--and because you love the way your lover gets a little flustered, his cheeks heating up perfectly when you shift your hips just right.

“I cleared my schedule just to see you, mein kleiner, because I noticed something this year,” Reinhardt rumbled. His hands fell on your waist, fingertips oh so gently rubbing over what he could of your hips, your waist, up until you felt one of his hands gently grasp your chin--though in all honesty, your attention couldn’t be pulled away from him by that point.

“Oh?” You said, feigning ignorance despite having some idea where his words were heading; you just wanted to hear him say it, here it in his deep, rumbling voice. “Whatever could I have done to bring you here? Have I been so good this year to see you early?”

You could have sworn that your soft voice affected Reinhardt something terrible, if only by the gentle twitch of something hot and hard between your thighs, separated from you with only a few layers of fabric. You could feel his fingertips press harder into your waist with one hand, into your chin with the other.

“On the contrary,” he murmured with some level of fake seriousness that it almost sounded genuine. “I’ve gotten word that you’ve been quite bad this year. Very bad indeed.”

He returned his hands both to your waist, pulling you down against him just so he can grind his hips to yours; both of you let out a low, pleased groan when the friction proves just enough to spark a heat in the center of your belly. Its already so hot, the pressure so tight--you wonder how many more words it might take to make the man snap and bend you over the bed, pants ripped from your body in his voracious need to have you then and there.

Just when you’re about ready to open your mouth and whimper some fake innocent question, Reinhardt’s face is next to your ear. 

_“You’re on my naughty list this year, mein liebling.”_

You let out a moan, needy and low.

“But I’m good!” the complaint is barely meant, and you can taste the playful sarcasm in each letter--the effect is enough though, rendering Reinhardt even more flushed, a shiver down his spine that worked into his palms that pressed so hard over your hips. “I bet I can make it up to you; prove that I should be on the nice list again~”

You wiggled your hips, then moaned again. The noise was slightly for show, but there was definitely something appealing about feeling Reinhardt’s clothed cock against you, teasing him just over the edge at his very own game. If he wanted to play so bad, you were more than happy to match him at it.

“What do you say, Mr. Claus?” 

Reinhardt lets out a chuckle that sounds far, far too husky. It’s low, delicious and rumbles through your entire body. He purrs, already starting to wiggle his fingers between the hem of your pants and your bare, warm skin. 

“I think you might be able to convince me.”


	35. Party Princess (Fem!Reader/Shimadas) [1/2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shimada heiress is secretly a party princess, and can’t help but want to show off out of jealousy when Hanzo and Genji take a date to the local club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter contains poly Shimadacest, with the reader character being the younger sister of both brothers. If you do not like this content, you are under no obligation to read it.

“So uh, what do you like to do?” Genji’s question is only a little slurred, barely evident of the couple shots he’s already had. It Hanzo wasn’t so close in both a physical and familial sense, he could be fooled to think that his younger brother was completely sober, but he knew far better. This was his favorite club, after all, a lovely balance between being close enough to visit without causing concern, but far enough that nobody bothered to pay them, the Shimada brothers, any mind at all. Some of the patrons didn’t even know the name, which was all fine and good.

What wasn’t all fine and good was the woman they had taken out on a date. What had started as genuine interest and shameful lust had dithered into awkward attempts at keeping the conversation going. Even with several drinks pumping in everyone’s system, it was only Genji who seemed to have any ability or desire to keep speaking to her.

Hanzo had all but given up already, face in his hands and a half-finished drink on the bar in front of him. This was a mess. He regretted everything, and absolutely regretted letting his brother talk him into something so shameful and absurd. 

He didn’t even like the woman all that much. It wasn’t an insult to her as a person, no, she just wasn’t his type. Jokes fell flat, hobbies didn’t align, and their personal views on various things were so different that they couldn’t even speak about them.

There was only one thing that hadn’t soured, though it was increasingly becoming pointless to hang on when the rest of her didn’t particularly share the same relation.

She looked like you.

You, the youngest Shimada, Genji and Hanzo’s baby sister. The woman looked almost like you, save for a few key details that Hanzo and Genji could point out plenty easily if they really wanted to, but don’t. They wanted to believe, if only for one micron of a moment, that they weren’t about to fuck an anonymous woman they’d otherwise met for the sole purpose that she looked like their younger sister.

Everything was already falling apart though, despite Genji’s best attempts to keep the woman’s attention and interest. Hanzo had long-since stopped paying attention to the conversation, so whatever Genji finally said to cause the woman to roll her eyes and leave in a huff, the elder Shimada couldn’t honestly be sure.

“Jesus,” Genji mumbled, shifting to take the seat directly next to Hanzo. “Well, that was…an attempt. A bad one, but an attempt regardless.” He drowned his frown with the tip back of yet another shop, leaving Hanzo still nursing at a drink he was probably not going to finish.

The music around them felt too loud. Throbbing. They were more distinctly aware of the crowd of people behind them, dancing and moving in ways that varied from crude to exhibitionist fantasy. 

“Maybe we should just go home,” Genji finally whispered, sounding disappointing that Hanzo hadn’t said anything yet. He started to glance behind him, wondering if there was a bouncer or likewise worker who might be able to get them the final bill for their drinks (since they tried to lavish the young woman in a gesture that was, in itself, quite innocent). “I mean we did promise her we’d be home at….”

Genji went silent.

Hanzo at first assumed his younger brother was just letting the alcohol get to him, his brain numbed and slow to forgetting what he was saying in the middle of a sentence, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Before the elder Shimada could bother pondering about it more, he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder.

“Anija,” Genji nearly hissed. “Look behind you.”

Hanzo groaned, about ready to tell Genji to stop–they weren’t going to try and seduce another to sleep with them, especially not one who was already having their own fun, but the green-haired menace of a brother was absolutely insistent.

“Hanzo,” The sound of Genji’s voice, serious and flat of humor, finally piqued Hanzo’s interest enough for him to turn. 

It barely took a moment for him to realize what Genji had seen. Was seeing. It didn’t take more than a moment for his brain to click, to recognize the body in the middle of the crowd, tucked between two bodies that neither brother knew.

You. Their baby sister.

* * *

You were so lost in the sound of the music, you didn’t even realize when your brothers finally noticed you, just one more body in the crowd, just another person seeking anything between anonymous intimacy or outright sex. Just another patron, happy to loosen up with a few drinks if only to feel a little de-stressed.

Well, and to make them jealous.

You weren’t blind, and you certainly weren’t stupid. You saw the two idiots leave with the woman between them, their arms around her waist, and her face looking far too similar to your own for a sense of comfort.

Jealousy had welled in your throat, followed so quickly behind the hurt that stabbed your heart. You knew that Genji and Hanzo wanted something shameful–wanted you. You knew that they wanted to do things, unspeakable things, that they would never let anyone else know. You knew all of this, and was always one step from just talking to them about it and then–….and then….

They take out some random woman who merely looked like you, tried to actually play it off as if she was a friend, and then….just….

You weren’t normally a jealous person, or at least, not terribly so. But the desire to have their attention, your big brothers’ attentions…it was like a drug. It was like being high, the feeling of them watching you, knowing their lust, their attraction, their adoration. It was a feeling you craved, just as much as you craved the feeling of their hands caressing your skin, their soft whispers in the night as they’d gently coax you to sleep all safe in their arms.

But then you notice.

Just as the next verse in the song drops–a low, throbbing beat that reminded you far too much of what you wanted out of this encounter–your eyes flick to the side, to see how well the whole situation was going with your brothers and the unknown woman between them.

The woman is gone, and in her place sits Genji, Hanzo beside him.

They’re looking at you. Directly at you. Their eyes are wide, their bodies frozen, and for a moment you’re not sure if their shock is in simply seeing a younger sibling in the same venue, or that you’re currently squished between two men, their hands needily grabbing at your hips. Despite the feeling of shy embarrassment that you knew would come if the two elder Shimadas discovered you, you feign a little, coy grin.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds from there before Hanzo is pushing himself through the crowd, nearing you and ultimately shoving the two men away from you. He grabs your wrist and pulls you close.

“What are you doing here?” He demands, whisper barely heard over the pumping bassline of the music. The brother didn’t get much of an answer though, when the two men you were joined by quickly stepped back up, almost shoving him back themselves.

“What the fuck?” They demanded. “Who the hell are you? Her boyfriend or something?”

Despite the tension of the situation, you can’t honestly help but enjoy it. Hanzo’s gripping your wrist still, just shy of painful, and holding you close against him. He feels so protective, feral almost, and the focus on the feeling is almost enough to miss the man’s instant, jaw-dropping response.

“I am,” The eldest growls, just as Genji is pushing up through the crowd to you, standing just beside your brother. “Now back. The fuck. Off.”

Maybe it’s the way Hanzo looks that makes your two anonymous near-hook-ups second-guess themselves. Being the oldest of a clan of organized criminals, Hanzo has spent years honing his body for any sort of physical confrontation. The tight, dark shirt he’s wearing does plenty to show off all of his muscles and tattoo at that. A very obvious, very large, a very prominent tattoo.

You wonder if the two men assumed that Hanzo was a yakuza member or something as they finally stepped off, disapearing into the crowd and leaving you at the mercy of both your brothers.

“Imōto,” Hanzo whispers, finally pulling you out of the crowd and, quickly, to a more secluded corner of the dance floor. “What are you doing here? Alone?”

The pet name almost makes you purse your lips.

“I’m an adult, Hanzo,” You distinctly choose not to call him ‘brother’, if only because it could further his distinct abhorrent thoughts of you being at the club with them. “I can do whatever I want, just like you both can.”

You feel Genji’s hand settle on your shoulder and Hanzo’s mouth open again, albeit to chastise you in an attempt to cover up or distract from what they’ve been doing at the club.

“I think you just didn’t want me to see you with that woman you both were going to bone,” you accuse in flippant annoyance, already tired of them trying to hide behind being ‘older’ and ‘more responsible’. They have done that so many times already, so many times leaving you feeling jealous and hurt. “You know, Hanzo, isn’t it weird? That woman looked an awful like me don’t you think?”

“I think you’re being absolutely-”

“Ridiculous? This is the third time that you and Genji have done this. Aniki, you can’t keep treating me like a baby when the two of you constantly come here because you both want to fuck me!”

Silence. Absolute silence. Genji’s hand grips your shoulder harder, frozen much like its owner. Hanzo stares down at you with wide, shocked eyes, but he says nothing to reject or otherwise deny your very strong, very blasphemous accusation. Eventually, the silence starts to get rather stifling.

“…I’m…not an idiot.” Your whisper hangs out from the void of communication like a branch, thin and withered in it’s shy pain. “I….wanted to make you two jealous. To notice me. To…”

Despite everything, despite all of your anger and all of their absolutely aggravating attempts to fuck you without actually fucking you, its you who is feeling ashamed, as if you’re stepping over the bounds, as if they don’t actually–as if it was just a game–

You’re crying, though its unsure when tears started welling up in your sight. 

“Fuck.”

You’re not sure which of your brothers cursed, but you feel arms around you regardless, nearly suffocating you in their strength, attempt to comfort you.

For a while, you think that this is it. The two of them are going to take you home, and never speak of this again–Hanzo especially will try to force things into a sense of normalcy for a while before they’d be even more careful about their incestuous trysts.

But instead, you hear Genji’s whispering in your ear, more than loud enough for Hanzo to pick up on.

“Anija,” The sound picks at Hanzo’s attention, you can hear his soft hum. “We did promise that we’d spent the evening with her, didn’t we?”

Hanzo is silent.

“It’s not as if this is much of a secret anymore, Hanzo.”

More silence. Genji finally pulls you back, one arm around your waist and the other caressing down your stomach in a motion of stroking.

“…Come on now, Hanzo, we spent so much effort to bang a chick that looked like our sweet imōto, and now you’re just going to clam up and want to go home when she’s right here with us?”

A shiver moves down your spine as the middle Shimada heir move his hand further down, finally pressing the heel of his palm between your legs. He grinds it against you for a moment, just long enough to spark a feeling of arousal, further from what had already been there already from your time in the crowd.

You happily let a whimper tumble from your lips, and Genji picks it up with ease.

“Don’t you hear that, Hanzo? She’s getting a little needy…Poor thing; do you want us to be the ones to take care of her, or maybe I can go find the two guys she came in with?”

That was what seemingly broke Hanzo’s thin, weak resolve. The mention of the men made the eldest seem to snap, eyes narrowing and tone filled with possessive anger. He stepped closer, until you were squished between he and Genji, his hand still pressing against your clothed heat.

“So?” Genji nearly purrs, watching Hanzo’s hands gently press to your hips, his brown eyes catching the other male’s own. “What do you say, anija?”

Hanzo merely answered Genji’s question with a kiss, a hard, hot, needy kiss against your mouth. You could feel his hands gripping your hips, starting to pull you against him, his hips gently pushing to yours despite Genji’s hand being between you. You could feel the fire brimming beneath his skin, so close to bursting forth and–

“Let’s take this upstairs then,” A low, gentle voice purrs against your ear. Genji sounds far too amused and horny for his own good. “I already have a room booked.”


	36. Party Princess (Fem!Reader/Shimadas) [2/2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shimada heiress is secretly a party princess, and can’t help but want to show off out of jealousy when Hanzo and Genji take a date to the local club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter contains poly Shimadacest, with the reader character being the younger sister of both brothers. If you do not like this content, you are under no obligation to read it.

It took a total of five minutes before you found yourself on the bed, already ruining the carefully-made sheets with twisting limbs and arching body. Though you hadn’t a sip of alcohol that entire night, the arousal that pumped through your veins was plenty enough to make you feel drunk. It slowed your thoughts and made everything feel hot and heavy--a blissful, loving numbness from the cold air or the thoughts of tomorrow.

You hit the bed alone, and lay there in anxious desire as you follow your two brothers with your eyes as they stalk around the room. One of them--Hanzo--is rustling through the bedside table, and Genji is stripping himself of his clothes. Though you know well enough what the two of them are doing, not a peep comes from your lips to stop them. Besides, the sight of your first older brother stripping down to toned muscles and nudity is plenty enough to keep your focus occupied.

“How can you not find it?” The green-haired menace of a young man chuckles, slowly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans when he notices you looking at him. “Hanzo, it’s right there in front of you--lube and condoms. I mean, there should definitely be a vibe in there too considering how much we paid for this damn--”

Hanzo’s harsh growl is plenty enough to shut the other up, both of you turning your gaze to the eldest in a worry that it was a noise of anger or frustration. Instead you gaze over to find him standing beside the edge of the bed, dropping the found items and quickly beginning to pull the clothes from his body in a manner far less sexy than Genji.

“You’re moving too slowly,” The man huffed, tossing his shirt across the room without a seeming care for where it landed. “We aren’t here to put on a show.”

You felt a dip in the mattress on your other side. Flipping your gaze over, you see Genji begin to crawl beside you. He takes a spot beside your still-clothed form, holding an expression that looked mixed with amusement and annoyance as he regards Hanzo.

“No wonder you don’t get laid,” He huffs. It doesn’t take more than a breath before Genji’s lips are at your throat, pressing almost reverently against your hot skin while his hands skim over your form. You gasp at the sensation, hilariously chaste in the wake of something so much filthier. Your brother chuckles against your skin. “See? I think she happens to like it when we take our time. It’s called _foreplay_ , brother.”

You can hear Hanzo’s indignant huff, though he doesn’t say anything to combat the younger’s words. Instead you feel the bed soon dip under the other’s weight, leaving you with one body on either side of you, hands already skimming across your body as one pair tries to find the quickest way to shed you of your clothes.

It doesn’t take long to get you naked. Shirt, pants--it all comes off quickly enough under the pull of two pairs of hands. Cloth is replaced with the warm touch of flesh, Hanzo and Genji pressing against you the moment that they could. You’re enveloped in them again, just like before, only this time with less clothing between you.  


It doesn’t take long before you’re caught in the heat of pleasure, like something out of fantasy or a dream, but without the heavy haze to leave you dumbfounded come morning. Their hands are on you, all over--you can’t tell whose is whose anymore, though you’re hardly complaining when they’re both trying to vie for your attention.

One pair of hands cup your breasts, gently squeezing them against powerful, warm palms. The touch is firm, fingers gently pinching nipples enough to get a gasp from your parted lips. The other hands are caressing your body, winding around your hips before each getting a nice handful of ass to grab and pull you closer. 

Both of your brothers moan in your ear, the sounds melding together in a blissful symphony of need as they grind closer to you. The warm, hard pressure of their dicks press against your ass and lower belly, a true testimate to how much and how quickly you turn them on. 

The mood gets heavier with lust when one of them--Genji, you figure from the sounds of his low murmur--begins to shift you up. He sits up on the bed and pulls you with him, so you’re pressed chest-to-chest. 

“Hanzo,” the man murmurs, eyes closed and mouth mostly occupied with giving attention to the sensitive spots of your throat with fervent kisses. “Get the condoms. Can’t take it anymore.” He sounds strained, his voice a beautiful mixture of arousal, need and a lack of patience that he has always been known for; outside of sex, at least. 

“So much for your thoughts of foreplay,” Hanzo quips, moreso under his breath than trying to egg Genji into a show of rivalry. At least the two of them can agree on something well enough, even if that something is earning the sweet, tight pleasure of being inside you. He gets the condoms quickly enough, and you feel the heat of his bare body against your back. The crinkle of the condom packets is only one background noise beyond the two men’s growling and groaning. 

Genji’s too busy pressing his face against your chest to notice or care while the older Shimada pulls on a condom. Instead, he’s pulled from his momentary pleasure quite literally, as Hanzo easily lifts you away from Genji’s body, his hands settling beneath and behind your knees in a position that not only let him settle you against him and his dick gently pressed to your heat, but held your legs apart to expose you. Your thighs open, your face flushed--Genji’s eyes fell on the way Hanzo’s cock pressed so perfectly snug against the lips of your already-aching cunt. 

“Beautiful,” He whispers, so blinded by the sight to care that Hanzo had pulled you away. “So beautiful, sister--” 

“Maybe if you get that condom on fast enough, then you’ll actually be able to get a feel of her.” Hanzo’s powerful voice is right next to your ear, the tone so low and rumbling that it alone was able to make you shiver. “Because I’m growing tired of this game we play, Genji.” 

You can feel the way he shifts, how his hips move just slightly enough to press himself just right, just barely against your cunt. You can feel the delicious slide of his cock’s tip between your folds, teasing ever so slightly against your entrance. He feels so big, so hot--and you’re aching for it. 

“Hanzo,” You whisper, your hands back to gently wrap around Hanzo’s neck from behind you, so you can turn your face and eagerly--perhaps even cutely--beg for a kiss. “Please. I want to feel you inside me.” 

There’s a smile on his lips when he finally gives you a kiss, passionate and slow. 

“You yearn that much for me?” He murmurs, mouthing down the side of your throat. “For your brothers both?” 

It takes a moment for you to work out a response from your mouth, and even then it is nothing more than a pitiful whisper of disjointed noise. It sounds something like an answer.

Hanzo can neither chastize nor tease you when Genji pipes up with a chuckle. As both you and Hanzo turn your attentions to your sibling, he’s sitting there before both of you. Legs shamelessly open and hand wrapped around his dick, he makes no attempt to hide how aroused he is at the sight.

“I’m starting to re-think the idea of taking turns with her, anija,” Genji purrs, his eyes flickering between the press of Hanzo’s cock against your cunt and the both of your faces in hushed, warmed pleasure. “...I wanna fuck her at the same time.”

His words are hungry. His words are needy. His words make your belly flip.

They seem to have the same effect on Hanzo as well, since you can feel the jump and throb of his cock against you. After a moment to debate the idea, you feel a slow, but firm press of your oldest brother’s cock sheathing itself inside you.

“F-fuck,” You curse, clutching Hanzo needily as the head presses inside, the length soon sliding in after. It’s slow, but you’re able to settle him inside you after a long minute or two, with Genji wordlessly watching the entire scene before him with breathless want.

“...Good?” Hanzo asks after a moment, kissing your neck in a wordless show of concern when you don’t respond right away. “If this is too much already, we won’t force both of ourselves inside--”

“No,” You manage to breathe out. The press is so good, opening you up on his cock. “You’re good--so good. Just--” Another breath, eyes fluttering with the sensation that rolls through you. A combination of physical pleasure and emotional satisfaction isn’t something you’re used to, but they swell and mix in your head in a dangerous slurry of euphoria that takes just an extra moment to filter through. You hope neither of your brothers interpreted it wrongly, but they wait to let you find your voice again.

“I want Genji to fuck me too,” Your words spill from kiss-swollen lips. “I want...I want both of you inside me at the same time. Please.” Whether it is your tone or the choice of your words, something makes Hanzo tense against you and Genji’s eyes light up with mischief.

He is more than quick to move up against you, pressing against your chest as if he was made to slot against you like that.

“She’s so cute~” Genji mouths as he kisses your collarbone. “You sound delicious, babe, just wait until I’m inside you too. Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good. Make you cum on both of our cocks.”

It takes some time to maneuver themselves correctly, mostly to make sure you’re comfortable during the whole process. In the time that Hanzo and Genji gently work you open for Genji’s cock, they wash you over in kisses, whispers, and gentle nuzzles to your face and shoulders.

“We’ve got you,” They whisper. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful. We love you.”

The last line is always whispered with heavy meaning. With passion. Genji speaks it with shameless abandon, while Hanzo only speaks it sparingly and with a heavy, gentle voice. It’s always accompanied with kisses, always with an assurance from you that you’re still okay.

Eventually, you feel the press of your brother’s cock against you. The feeling of Hanzo has all but settled into a pleasant warmth in your body, but Genji’s girth is more than enough to spark your body into a minute of careful, heavy sensation. Air catches in your lungs as the tip presses inside.

“Baby,” the pet name sounds so soft on Genji’s lips, so familiar and comforting. “That’s it--you’re taking it really well. You feel so fucking good already imouto.”

Seconds pass and Genji presses deeper, deeper still, and your body lights up with sensation that bounces between pleasure and mild discomfort. But then, suddenly, it’s perfect. You can feel them both so deep inside you. Genji and Hanzo comfort you with murmurs and kisses across your shoulders, neck and face, waiting for permission to do anything else.

You let out a needy whine as they shift just slightly, sandwiching you between their bodies as they kneel on the bed. Hanzo still has his hands hooked behind your knees, which makes you feel just a layer less in control of the position and a hair needier for them to start _moving._

“Fuck me,” You demand, word somewhat distorted in a pleasure-filled sob. “Please fuck me!”

It doesn’t take long for either of them to understand the command. They start to move with powerful care, and the sensation is absolutely _blissful_. Every shift is a spark of heat in your belly, every moan a shiver down your spine. Whether it’s Hanzo or Genji, you feel lips on your skin and words of lust in your ear, a husky confession of all the times they wanted to be in this very situation with you between them.

When one cock is pulling back, the other is slamming inside, caressing your inner walls in motions more than enough to make you feel like a taut string of pleasure that threatens to snap with every motion.

It certainly doesn’t help that both of them are able to reach one particular spot inside you, one that sparks absolute lightning of need against the back of your eyelids. It’s like lava in your belly, swirling and growing in tension until you feel about ready to snap at any moment.

You’re like that for so long--longer than you care to think about, while the two of them continue to rut and thrust like animals against you. The motions and noises they make are in itself enough to force you closer to the edge, making you feel endlessly comforted by their mere need for you and you alone.

The whispers grow in fervency as Hanzo and Genji get closer to orgasm.

“I want to fill you up so full,” one of them says.

“You’re so tight, so hot,” another murmurs.

“We love you so much.”

The words, those final words of confessed love, are what manage to reach your ears as you crash over the cliff of orgasm. White-hot pleasure courses through your body, so much that you almost don’t bother to listen to the groans, moans and sobs of pleasure that spill from your brothers’ lips when they too find their end. Your name is mixed in, sounding powerful and beloved.

And then the three of you, some short time later, finally find yourselves on the shared bed together,. You’re all a tangle of limbs and overheated bodies that don’t find the energy or desire to separate.

  
  
  



	37. Soft (Trans Male!Reader/Reinhardt)

If there was one thing that you could call Reinhardt, among a million other things, it would be romantic. There’s just something special about the way he treats you, the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you that makes you feel like a beloved person to him. 

It doesn’t come wholly as a surprise, as Reinhardt is a man who has assuredly had his years of experience in the arts of seduction before meeting you. It’s nevertheless humbling however, to hear the man purr something sweet about you, how handsome you look, how he wants to cradle you against his chest or, if he’s particularly horny, how much he wants to fuck you.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the man wants on nights like this. The television has been murmuring something in the background of the room’s air, but you’ve been too distracted to give much of a care for several minutes. His hands steal your attention, careful fingers teasing against your arms, up to your shoulders, with one eventually stroking up your throat and capturing your chin.

“I want you,” Is all the man says, a whisper, but his words were thick with need. “Meine kleine maus, I need you.” He gently tugs your face to the side.

When you turn, his lips meet yours in a gentle, slow, yet passionate kiss. It doesn’t take much to turn in Reinhardt’s lap, to shift so you’re sitting chest-to-chest and feeling the heat of his body even through the layers of his casual clothes of a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

The last several nights have ended similarly, with his hands roaming under your shirt and his lips marking up your throat. Whether it’s been the constant missions keeping you two apart or simple, yet rampant carnal desire, the two of you can’t seem to keep far apart.

You settle over his lap with your legs apart, spread astride his hips. His pants are loose enough so that you can feel the pressure of his half-hard cock press against your core, and you can’t help but grind yourself against him in return, feeling the way the pressure stimulated a blossoming of heat from the bottom of your stomach.

A moan works from your lips as Reinhardt takes notice. He chuckles, gently pulling your shirt over your head, and then carefully maneuvering to remove your binder.

“You’re always so responsive,” He murmurs in something between awe and lust. “I’m never left wondering how you feel, liebling. I love it when you sing for me like this.”

He takes no moment of hesitation before his hands find their way to your chest, gently kneading away the slight ache, before moving down your waist, and then coming to the top of your pants. Though it takes a fair bit of shimmying to get them off, you eventually find yourself naked before the man, but unprepared for the touch of his hands as he immediately turns you.

Reinhardt presses your back against his chest, your ass grinding back against his still-clothed cock. His hands hold you still with one on your hip, the other gently pressing between your legs.

“Have you been thinking about this all day?” He asks, no trace of anything other than arousal. “Thinking of feeling me sinking inside of you? Opening you up?”

A whine fell from your lips to answer his questions, one after the other, as you felt his fingers rubbing against the soft mound between your legs. Reinhardt held no mercy to your noises, and pressed his fingers between your lower lips, spreading them apart before gently pinching your throbbing, growing clit between his index and middle finger. It slotted perfectly between the digits, feeling the gentle drag of his skin as the hood pulled back and he attacked it relentlessly with little tweaks and circular motions of pressure.

“Reinhardt….” You whimper. “Please…”

“Please?” He mimics. “Please what, liebling?”

The amusement in his voice was as aggravating as it was intoxicating to hear, but not nearly as much as his thick fingers working through your folds. He toyed with you, teasing the tip of a digit near your entrance.

He wanted you to beg.

“Please fuck me.”

You can practically feel Reinhardt smile before you feel the thick, lovely pressure of his finger thrusting inside of you. He knows exactly how you want it, how fast, how deep, how you like your clit stroked and rubbed at the same time–how you liked to hear his deep, needy growl in your ear while he moves.

“Such a good boy for me, liebling, you’re so beautiful like this, exposed for me, opening up for me.”

He kisses the shell of your ear before increasing the pace of his fingering, rutting his cock up against your ass, body rough, tense–was he getting close too? The idea worried you only slightly, if only because you wanted him to fuck you, to bend you over the couch and slam his throbbing cock inside and making a mess of you.

Luckily, Reinhardt seemed plenty able to read your thoughts.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he murmured in reassurance. “Don’t you worry, maus. Let an old man have his moment of appreciation.” He curls a finger inside you before you can argue, rubbing deftly against a spot deep within your heat, something that made you quiver in his hold and feel what might have been a flicker of hard, hot pleasure through your limbs.

A second finger joins the first a minute later, and then finally a third–it’s almost to much and yet not nearly enough for you, but the angle makes it difficult for Reinhardt to press very deep anymore. By the time you’re stretched beyond the ability to think, your lover finally moves.

He manhandles you on the couch as he likes–a kink in itself for a man as strong and large as Reinhardt–with your body turned, belly-down and bending over the arm of the couch so much that your feet can’t even touch the ground. You’re practically dangling over the end of the couch, ass up and thighs wet with your arousal. The rough texture of the couch is too much and not enough all at the same time, rubbing against your clit and making you muffle a cry behind your clasped hands over your mouth.

“That’s it,” The man growls, his voice followed by the sound of dropping cloth. “Stay just like that for me, maus.” 

Only then can you feel the pressure of something against your heat, something larger than a mere finger or two (even if they were Reinhardt’s). It’s hot, throbbing, and you’re three seconds away from spreading your legs even wider like some sort of animal in heat. He grinds against you for a moment, just enough to feel that distinct pressure of his cock, the head toying against your cunt.

And then, in one fluid motion, he thrusts inside you.

And damn, is that heaven.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sinwatch (xreaders)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193655) by [SinnamonCupcakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonCupcakes/pseuds/SinnamonCupcakes)




End file.
